UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


GIFT    OF 


Class 


lilt? 


THE 


POETS  AND   THE  POETRY 


OF 


THE  ANCIENT  GREEKS; 


WITH 


AN    HISTORICAL   INTRODUCTION, 


AND  A  BRIEF  VIEW  OF 


GRECIAN  PHILOSOPHERS,  ORATORS,  AND  HISTORIANS. 


ABRAHAM  MILLS,  A.M. 

AUTHOR    OF   THE   LITERATURE   AND   THE   LITERARY   MEN    OF   GREAT   BRITAIN 
AND   IRELAND,    ETC.  ETC. 


BOSTON: 
PHILLIPS,    SAMPSON,    AND    COMPANY. 

1858. 


C.T, 


Entered,  according  to  Act  -of  Congress,  in  the  year  1853,  by 

ABRAHAM    MILLS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


STEREOTYPED   BY  THOMAS   B.   SMITH, 
216  WILLIAM  STREET,  N.  Y. 


TO 

CHARLES   KING,    L.L.D., 

PRESIDENT   OF    COLUMBIA    COLLEGE,    IN  THE   CITY   OF   NEW   YORK, 

%\n 

:ARK 
Jnscribsb 

BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


Of  THB 

Tiim         T 


PEEFACE. 

1 

IN  offering  to  the  public  the  following  Lectures  on  Grecian 
Literature,  the  author  would  avail  himself  of  the  opportunity 
thus  afforded,  to  express  his  unfeigned  gratification  with  the 
flattering  manner  in  which  his  recent  lectures  on  the  Literature 
of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  were  ,  received,  and  to  assure  the 
generous  admirers  of  that  work,  that  such  unexpected  com- 
mendation of  his  past  labors  are  duly  appreciated  by  him. 

In  the  present  volume  the  author  has  endeavored  to  present 
the  result  of  many  years'  study  and  investigation  in  the  Depart- 
ment of  literature  to  which  it  pertains,  in  a  style  sufficiently 
removed  from  antiquity  to  give  to  the  subject  all  the  freshness  of 
which  it  is  susceptible,  or  to  which  his  own  abilities  are  equal  ; 
and  should  he  have  failed  to  excite  the  sympathy  and  elicit  the 
interest  of  his  readers  in  the  literary  affairs  of  the  great  nation 
and  the  distinguished  men  of  whom  he  treats,  he  will  be  con- 
strained to  feel  and  free  to  confess,  that  his  failure  is  not 
attributable  to  a  want  of  value  in  the  materials  at  his  command, 
but  to  a  want  of  skill  in  the  use  he  has  made  of  them. 

To  avoid  burthening  and  deforming  his  pages  with  the 
numerous  authorities  which  he  has  consulted  in  the  preparation 
of  this  work,  the  author  deems  it  proper  here  to  remark,  that 
he  has  availed  himself  of  every  aid  that  the  labors  of  previous 
writers  on  this  subject,  with  whose  works  he  is  familiar,  afford. 
Besides  to  Plutarch,  Aihenceus,  Suidas,  and  many  other  ancient 
biographers  and  grammarians,  the  author  acknowledges  himself 


vi  PREFACE. 

particularly  indebted  to  EschenburgKs  Manual  of  Classical  Lit- 
erature, Mailer's  History  of  the  Literature  of  Ancient  Greece,  SchlegeTs 
Lectures  on  the  Greek  Drama,  Browne's  History  of  Greek  Classical 
Literature,  Mitre's  History  of  the  .Language  and  Literature  of  the 
Greeks,  Peter's  Poetry  of  the  Ancients,  Smiths  Dictionary  of  Greek 
and  Roman  Antiquities,  and  Smiths  Dictionary  of  Greek  and 
Roman  Biography  and  Mythology.  From  the  papers  in  Cum- 
berland's Observer,  on  the  Comic  Drama  of  Athens,  the  author  has 
also  derived  much  valuable  information,  and  obtained  many 
gems  of  poetry  very  accurately  and  sweetly  rendered  into  Eng- 
lish. The  poetical  translations  with  which  the  work  so  exten- 
sively abounds  are  uniformly  taken  from  authors  whose  reputa- 
tion as  translators,  is  established  beyond  a  peradventure ;  but  as 
each  translation  will  indicate  the  source  whence  it  is  taken,  any 
farther  reference  here  to  the  subject,  would  be  superfluous. 

With  these  brief  remarks,  the  author  sends  forth  to  the  world 
this  second  literary  venture,  fondly  hoping  that  it  may  be 
wafted  over  the  sea  of  public  opinion  by  as  favoring  gales,  and 
finally  be  moored  in  as  safe  a  haven,  as  its  predecessor. 

GLOBE  HOTEL,  BROOKLYN,  ) 
June,  1853,  ) 


AUTHORS'  NAMES. 


PAGE 

A-CH^E'-US 323 

A-CU-SI-LA'-US 465 

JE'-LI-AX 485 

JE-MIL-I-A'-XUS  Ni-c^'-us 239 

jiEs'-cm-XES 454 

JEs'-CHY-LUS 250 

jE'-sop 89 

A-GA'-THI-AS 241 

AG'-A-THOX 323 

-AL-c^:'-us 86 

ALC'-MAN 84 

A-LEX'-IS 394 

A-MEIP'-SI-AS 347 

AM'-PHIS 347 

A-XA'-CRE-OX .- 105 

AX-AX-AG'-O-RAS 419 

AN-AX-AX'-DRI-DFS -. 382 

A-XAX-I-LA'  us 383 

AN-AX-I-MAN'-DER 416 

AN-AX-IM'-E-NES 417 

AX-DOC'-I-DES , 442 

AX-TAG'-O-RAS 209 

AX-TIP'-A-TER  OF  SI'-DOX 227 

AX-TIP'-A-TER  OF  THES-SA-LO -Xl'-CA..  .  238 

AN-TIPH'-A-LUS 237 

AX-TJPH'-A-XES 384 

AX'-TI-PHOX 440 

AN-TI-S'-THE-XES ' 428 

AX'-Y-TE 184 

A-POL-LO-DO'-RUS 411 

AP-OL  LO'-XI-US  RHO'-BI-US 194 

AP'-PI-AX 484 

A-RA'-ROS .-^ 381 

A-RA'-TUS 179 

AR-CES-I-LA'-US 430 

AR-CHE-LA'-US 421 

AR'-CHI-AS 230 

AR-CHIL'  O-CHUS 79 

AR-CHY'-TAS 147 

AR'-I-PHRON 148 

AR-IS-TAR'-CHUS 323 

AR-IS-TIP'-PUS 427 

AR-IS'-TO-PHON 387 

AR-JS-TOPH'-A-XES 351 

AR'-IS-TO-TLE 430 

AR'  RI-AX 484 

AS-CLE-PI'-A-DES 182 

AX-I-O-XI'-CUS 383 

BAC-CHYI/-I-DES 143 

BA'-THOX 383 

Bi'-ox 213 

CAD'-MUS 464 

CAL-LIM'-A-CHUS 187 

CAL-LIS'-TRA-TUS 150 

CAR-CI'-XUS.  .  .  323 


PAGE 

CAR  NE'-A-DES 430 

CAR-PHYI/-I-DES 240 

CH.E-RE'-MOX 324 

CHA'-ROX 465 

CHI-OX'-I-DES 329 

CHCE'-RI-LUS 251 

CHRY-SIP'-PUS 429 

CLE-AX;-THES 206 

CLE-AR'-CHUS 388 

CRA'-TES 341 

CRA  TI'-XUS 335 

CRI-XA'-GO-RAS 237 

CRI'-TOX 388 

CRO'-BY-LUS 388 

CTE'-SI-AS 480 

DAM-A-GE'-TES.- 212 

DA-MOX'E  xus 389 

DE-MA'-DES 457 

DK-ME'-TRI-US 389 

DE-ME'-TRI-US  PHA-LE' -RE-US 457 

DE-MOCH'-A-RIS 242 

DE-MOC'-RI-TUS 389 

DE-MOS'-THE-XES. 448 

DI-XAR'-CHUS 457 

DI-XOL'-O-CHUS 333 

DI-O-DO'-RUS 389 

DI-O-DO'-RUS  SIC'-U-LUS 482 

DI-OG'-E-XES 428 

Di  OG'-E-XES  OF  A-POL-LO'-XIA 428 

Di'-ox  CAS'-SIUS 485 

DI-O-NY'-SI-US  HAL-I-CAR-XAS'-SUS 483 

DI-O-NY'-SI-US  OF  SYRACUSE 389 

Di  O-XY'-SI  us  OF  SI-XO'-PE 389 

DI-O-XY'-SI-US 240 

DI-O-SCOR;-I-DES 210 

DI-O-TI'-MUS 182 

DIPH'-I-LUS 410 

EC-PHAX'-TI-DES 330 

EM-PED'-O-CLES 146 

E-PHIP'-PUS 389 

EP-I-CHAR'-MUS 330 

E-PIC'-RA-TES 389 

EP-I-CU'-RUS 432 

E-RIX'-XA 97 

ER'-I-PHUS 391 

EU-BU'-LUS 381 

EU'-CLID 428 

EU-CLI'-DES , 428 

EU-PHO'-RI  ON 211 

EU'-PHROX 391 

EU'-PO-LIS 338 

EU-RIP'-I-DES .- 299 

EL-X-EN'-I-DES 331 

E-VE'-XUS , ...  147 

EV'-E-TES.  .          149 


Vlll 


AUTHORS'   NAMES. 


PAGE 

GER-MI'  NUS  ......  .  ...............   239 

GREG'-O-RT  NA-ZI-AN'-ZEN  ..........   241 

HEC  A-T.E'-US  .....................  464 

HEL  LAN'-I-CUS  ...................  466 

HE-NI'-O-CHUS  ....................  391 

HER-A-CLI'-TUS  ....................  418 

HER-ME  SI'-A-NAX  .................  156 

HER-MIP'-PUS  ....................  348 

HE-ROD'-I  TUS.  .  .  .................  467 

HE-RO-DO'-RUS  ....................  466 

HE'-SI-OD  ........................  69 

HIP-PAR'-CHUS  ....................  348 

HO'-MER  ........................  43 

HY'-BRI-AS  ......................  155 

HY-PER'-I-DES  ....................  456 

IB'-Y-CUS  ................  .......  '.  100 

I'-ON  ...........................  322 

l-sjs'-us..  .  .  ,  .....................  446 

I-SOC'-RA-TES  .....................  444 

Ju'-LI-AN    OF   E'-GYPT  ..............    241 

LE-ON'-I-DAS  OF  TA-REN'-TUM  ........  203 

LE-ON'-I-DAS  OF  AL-EX-AN'-DRI-A  .....  238 

LEU-CIP'-PUS  .....................  426 

LU'-OI-AN  .........................  239 

LU-OIL'-I-US  .......................  241 

LYO'-O-PHRON  ....................  162 

LY-CUR'-GUS  ......................  447 

LYS'-I-AS  ........................  442 

MA-CE-DO'-NI-US  ...................   242 

MAG'-NES  ........................   329 

MAR-CI-A'-NUS  .....................   335 

MAR'-CUS  AR-GEN-TA'-RI-US  .....  ....   239 

MEL-E-A'-GER  .....................   231 

ME-LIS'-SUS  .......................    247 

ME-NAN'-DER  ......................  401 

MIM-NER'-MUS  ....................     99 

MNA-SAL'-CAS  .....................   155 

MNE-SIM'-A-CHUS  ...................   391 

MOS'-CHI-ON  ......................   393 

MOS'-CHUS  ........................   219 

Mu-s^;'-us  .......................   241 

MYL'-LUS  .........................   329 

NE'O-PHROX  ......................  322 

NI-C^E'-NE-TUS  ....................  210 

NI-CAN'-PER  ......................  224 

NIC'  -i  AS  ........................  183 

NI-COS'-TRA-TUS  ......  ..............  394 

Nos'-sis  .........................  184 

O-NES'-TES  ........................   239 

O-NO-MAC'  RI-TUS  ...................   137 


PAL'-A-DES 

PAR-MEN  '  -i  DES 

PAR-ME'M'OX 

PAUL  THE  SI-LEN'-TI-A-RY 


240 
382 
239 
242 
PER'-I-CLES  ......................   436 

PER'-SKS  ..........................    158 

PH,ED'-I-MUS  .....................   183 

PELE'-DO.  .  ,.  428 


PAGE 

PHE-REC'-RA-TES  ..................  344 

PHER-E-CY'-DES  OF  LE'-ROS  .........  463 

PHI-LE'-MON.  .  .  ...................  406 

PHIL'-IP  OF  THES-SA-LO  NI'-CA  .......  238 

PHI-LIP'-PI-DES  ...................  411 

PHI-LIP'-PUS  .......................  238 

PHI-LO-DE'-MUS  ....................  236 

PHI-LOS'-TRA-TUS  ..................  240 

PHI-LON'-I-DES  ....................  346 

PHCE-NIC'-I-DES  .....................  394 

PHOR'-MIS  ........................  333 

PHRYN'-I-CHUS  ................   248,  347 

PIN'-DAR  ........................  122 

PI-SIS'-TRA-TUS  ....................  436 

PLA'-TO  THE  POET  ................  342 

PLA'-TO  THE  PHILOSOPHER  ..........  429 

PLU'-TARCH  ......................  483 

PO-LYB'-I-US  ......................  481 

PO-LYS'-TRA-TUS  ...................  227 

PO-SI-DIP'-PUS  ....................  412 

PRAT'-I  NAS  ......................  251 

PYR'-RHO  ........................  433 

PY-THAG'-O-RAS  ...................  423 

RHI-A'-NUS  ...................  _____  208 

RU-FI'-NUS  ........................  240 

SAP'-PHO  .........................  91 

SIM'-MI-AS  ........................  149 

SI-MON'-I-DES  .....................  115 

SOC'-RA-TES  .......................  426 

SO'-LON  .........................  89 

SOPH'-O-CLES  .....................  269 

SOT'-A-DES  ........................  397 

STE-SICH'-O-RUS  ...................  84 

STRA'-TO   .......................  240 

STRA'-TON  .......................  392 

SU-SA'-RI-ON  ......................  327 

TER-PAN'-DER  ....................  83 

THA'-LES  ........................  415 

THE-MIS'-TO-CLES  ..................  436 

THE-OC'-RI-TUS  ....................  164 

THE-O-DEC'-TES  ...................  225 

THE-OG'-NIS  .......................  101 

THE-OPH'-I-LUS  ...................  398 

THE-O-POM'-PUS  ....................  348 

THES'-PIS  ......  .......  :  ..........  248 

THU-CYD'-I-DES  ....................  473 

TI-MO'-CLES  ......................  398 

TUL'-LI-US  GEM'-I-NUS  ..............  239 

TYM'-NES  .........................  226 

77 


XAN'  THUS  ........................  466 

XE-NAR'-CHUS  ....................  438 

XE-NO  THE  ELDER  ................  438 

XE-NO  THE  YOUNGER  .............  43*8 

XEN'-O  CLES.  ..  ....................  400 

XEX-OC'-RI-TES  ...................  239 

XE-NOPH'-A-NES  ...................  438 

XEN'-O-PHON  ......................  478 

ZK'NO.  .  .........................  428 

ZO'-NAS  OF  SARDIS...  .  237 


CONTENTS. 


LECTURE  THE  FIKST. 


PAG1 

INTRODUCTION 21 


LECTUBE  THE  SECOND. 

TRANSLATORS. 

HOMER 43 

Hymn  to  Apollo ^ Elton 44 

Contest  between  Ulysses  and  Thersites Pope. 61 

Parting  Interview  of  Hector  and  Andromache Elton 63 

Embassy  of  Ulysses,  Ajax,  and  Phosnix  to  Achilles.  .Pope jfe..  66 

Battle  of  the  Gods Elton 60 

Achilles  Going  Forth  to  Battle ibid. 61 

Suit  of  Priam  to  Achilles Pope 63 

Grot  of  Calypso ibid. 65 


LECTUKE  THE  THIED. 

HESIOD 69 

Creation  of  Pandora Elton 72 

Dispensations  of  Providence,  to  the  Just  and  the  Unjust,  ibid. 74 

Battle  of  the  Giants ibid. , 75 

TYRT^EUS 77 

War  Elegy Elton 78 

ARCHILOCHUS 79 

Exhortation  to  Fortitude  under  Affliction Elton 82 

On  an  Eclipse  of  the  Sun ibid. 82 

Equanimity ibid. 82 

Two  Military  Portraits Merivale 83 

The  Storm ibid.  83 

The  Mind  of  Man ibid.  83 

Life  and  Death • ibid.  83 

TERPANDER ; 83 

ALCMAN 84 

To  Megalostrata Merivale 84 

A  Fragment Thos.  Campbell 84 

STESICHORUS 84 

The  Sacrifice  of  Tyndarus H.  N.  Coleridge 85 


X  CONTENTS. 

TRANSLATORS.  PAG*. 

Voyage  of  the  Sun Merivale 85 

The  Procession ibid 86 

A  Fragment. Langhorne 86 

ALGOUS 86 

A  Convivial  Song '. Merivale 8*7 

A  Convivial  Song. ibid.  87 

The  Storm ibid.  88 

The  Poor  Fisherman W.  Hay 88 

Poverty Merivale 88 

The  Spoils  of  War ibid.  88 

The  Constitution  of  a  State Sir  Wm.  Jones 89 

.^Esop 89 

Death  the  Sovereign  Remedy Robt.  Bland. 89 

SOLON 89 

Justice Merivale 9-0 

The  Constitution  of  Athens ibid.  90 

A  Fragment Langhorne 90 

Remembrance  after  Death..  ..Merivale...  ...  90 


LECTUEb  THE  FOUBTH. 


SAPPHO 91 

Ode  to  Venus Elton 93 

To  a  Girl  Beloved ibid. 94 

An  Illiterate  Woman Robt.  Bland. 95 

Fragments Ch.  North — Th.  Moore — Merivale. .  95 

Inscriptions , Elton 96 

ERINNA 97 

Epitaph  on  Myrtis  of  Mitylene Elton 97 

Another  on  the  same ibid. 98 

Ode  to  Rome ibid. 98 

MlMNERMUS 99 

Youth  and  Age H.  N.  Coleridge 99 

Shortness  of  Life Elton 99 

IBYCUS 100 

The  Influence  of  Spring H.  N.  Coleridge 100 

THEOGNIS 101 

On  Friendship Elton 101 

Arguments  for  Social  Enjoyment ibid. 102 

Return  to  my  Native  Land J.  H.  Frere 103 

Youth  and  Age Robt.  Bland. 104 

Poverty J.  H.  Frere 104 

Friends  and  Foes ibid.  104 

ANACREON 1U5 

The  Dove Dr.  Johnson 105 

To  a  Painter Elton '. 108 

Cupid  Benighted Thos.  Moore. 109 

A  Dream Elton 110 

Return  of  Spring ibid. Ill 

Beauty Thos.  Moore. Ill 


CONTENTS.  xi 

TRANSLATORS.  PAGE 

The  Rose Thos.  Moore Ill 

Folly  of  Avarice ibid.       112 

Cupid  and  the  Bee ibid.       112 

Drinking ibid.        113 

Happy  Life Cowley 113 

Convivial...                 Fawkes 114 


LECTUKE  THE  EIBTH. 

SEMONIDES 115 

Lamentation  of  Danae Elton 118 

The  Miseries  of  Life ". Bland 118 

Virtue Elton 119 

Inscription  on  Anacreon Hay 119 

"  On  Those  who  Fell  at  Thermopylae Bland 120 

"  On  the  same ibid. 120 

"  On  Cimon's  Land  and  Sea  Victories Merivale 120 

"  On  Those  who  Fell  at  Eurymedon ibid.    .. .  .^ 121 

"  On  the  Death  of  Hipparchus ibid.    121 

"  On  the  Daughter  of  Hippias ibid.     121 

"  On  a  Statue  of  Cupid  by  Praxiteles Hodgson 121 

"  On  a  Cenotaph ibid.    121 

Fragments Merivale 122 

PINDAR 122 

The  First  Pythian  Ode Cary 127 

Extract  from  the  Second  Olympian  Ode A.  Moore 132 

"       From  the  Fourteenth  Olympian  Ode Cary 133 

"       From  the  Third  Nemean  Ode ibid. 134 

"       From  the  Eighth  Nemean  Ode ibid. 135 

To  the  Sun  under  an  Eclipse. — A  Fragment Blackwood 136 


LECTUKE  THE  SIXTH. 

ONOMACKITUS 137 

Visit  of  the  Argonauts  to  the  Cave  of  Chiron Elton 139 

The  Orphic  Remains ibid. 141 

To  the  Moon ibid. 142 

From  the  Lithics ibid. 142 

BACCHYLIDES 143 

An  Anacreontic Merivale 143 

Peace Bland. 144 

On  the  Death  of  a  Child Merivale 144 

The  Husbandman's  Offering ibid.  144 

Fragments ibid. 144 

EMPEDOCLES 145 

Epitaph  on  a  Physician Merivale 147 

EUENUS < 147 

The  Vine  and  the  Goat..  ..Merivale...  .  147 


xii  CONTENTS. 

TRANSLATORS.  PAGB 

The  Swallow  and  the  Grasshopper  .................  Merivale  ...........  147 

Contradiction  ....................  .  ................     ibid.    ..........  148 

ARIPHRON-  ...................  .........................  :  ...............  148 

To  Health  ..............  .  ........................  Bland.  ............  149 

SlMMIAS  ..........................................  .  ...................  149 

On  Sophocles  ....................................  Addison  ...........  149 

CALLISTRATUS  ...................................  .  ....................  150 

Ode  to  Harmodius  ...............................  Denman  ...........  150 

PLATO  ..........................  ....  .................................  151 

The  Answer  of  the  Musis  to  Venus  ...............  Merivale  ..........  151 

On  a  Rural  Image  of  Pan  ........................     ibid.    ..........  152 

On  a  sleeping  Cupid  ..............................  Bland  ............  152 

A  Satyr  and  a  Cupid  bj  a  Fountain  ..............  ibid.  ............  152 

On  Dion  of  Syracuse  .............................  Merivale  ..........  153 

A  Lover's  Wish  .................................  T.  Moore.  .........  153 

The  Kiss.  ......................................  Merivale.  .........  153 

On  his  Beloved  ...................................  T.  Moore.  .........  153 

On  Aristophanes  ..................................  Merivale.  .........  153 

On  the  Tomb  of  Themistocles  .....................  Cumberland.  .......  153 

ARISTOTLE..-  ..........................................................  154 

Hymn  to  Virtue  .................................  Merivale.  .........  154 

On  the  Tomb  of  Ajax  ......................  ......  ibid.  ..........  154 

MNASALCAS  ...........................................................  155 

Parody  on  the  Inscription  of  Aristotle  .............  Merivale  ..........  155 

Inscriptions  .....................................  Hodgson  ...........  155 

HYBRIAS  .......  .  .....................................................  155 

The  Warrior's  Riches  ............................  Campbell  .........  156 

HERMESIANAX  ..............  .  ..........................................  156 

The  Loves  of  the  Greek  Poets  .....................  Cumberland.  .......  156 

PERSES  ......................  .  .......................................  157 

On  the  Monument  of  a  Daughter  ...................  Merivale  ..........  158 


LECTUEE  THE  SEVENTH. 

LYCOPHRON  ..........................................  .  ................  161 

Prophecy  of  the  Death  of  Hector  ..........  .  .......  Elton  ............  163 

THEOCRITUS  ...........................................................  1  64 

Character  of  Ptolemy  Philadelphus  ................  FawJces.  ...........  166 

Praises  of  Ptolemy  Philadelphus  ...................    ibid.  ............  166 

The  Syracusian  Gossips  ..........................  Elton  ............  169 

The  Infant  Hercules  .............................  ibid.  ............  174 

Liberality  to  Poets  Enjoined  .......................  Polwhele.  .........  175 

Epithalamium  of  Helen  ...................  '  ........  Elton  ............  176 

Epitaphs  ........................................  Blackwood  ........  178 

ARATUS.  .  .  ............................................................  179 

Proem  to  the  Phsenomena  ........................  Elton  ............  179 

Prognostics  of  Weather  ...........................  ibid.  ............  181 

DIOTIMUS  ....................................  .   .......................  182 

On  a  Flute-Player  .  .............  _____  .  ............  Merivale.  .........  182 


CONTENTS.  xiii 

TRANSLATORS,  PAGE 

ASCLEPIADES 182 

On  a  Picture  of  Berenice Merivale. 182 

On  Hesiod Haygarth 182 

PiLEDIMUS 183 

Heroic  Love Merivale *183 

NICIAS 183 

On  the  Tomb  of  an  Infant Merivale 183 

The  Bee Blackwood 183 

Nossis 184 

On  an  Image  of  her  Daughter Merivale 184 

Love ibid.     184 

On  the  Picture  of  Thymarite ibid.     184 

ANYTE 184 

On  the  Entrance  to  a  Cavern Blackwood 185 

On  a  Grove  of  Laurel Hodgson 185 

On  a  Dolphin  Cast  Ashore ibid.    185 

On  a  Statue  of  Venus Merivale 185 

On  the  Young  Virgin  Phillida ibid.    186 

On  the  Maid  Antibia Hay 186 


LECTURE  THE  EIGHTH. 

CALLIMACHUS 187 

Hymn,  on  the  Bath  of  Minerva Elton 189 

On  Heraclitus Coleridge 193 

The  Death  of  Cleombrotus Merivale 193 

On  a  Brother  and  Sister ibid.  193 

The  Chase ibid.  194 

APOLLONIUS  RHODIUS 194 

Sailing  of  the  Argo Elton 196 

Passion  of  Medea ibid. 197 

Deliberation  of  Medea ibid. 198 

Medea  and  Jason  in  the  Temple  of  Hecate ibid. 200 

LEONIDAS 203 

Home Bland. 204 

The  Return  of  Spring  to  Sailors ibid. 204 

A  Mother  on  her  Son i bid. 204 

Inscription  on  a  Boat. Merivale. 204 

On  a  Statue  of  Anacreon ibid.  205 

On  Homer Hodgson 205 

On  Himself Merivale 205 

CLEANTHES 206 

Hymn  to  Jupiter Elton 207 

RHIANUS 208 

On  Human  Folly, Elton 209 

Amatory  Epigram ibid. 209 

ANTAGORAS 209 

Cupid's  Genealogy Merivale 209 

On  Two  Cynic  Philosophers ibid 210 


xiv  CONTENTS. 

TRANSLATORS.  PAGE 

NKLENETUS 210 

The  Precept  of  Cratinus .T.  Moore 210 

The  Fete  Champetre ' Merivale 210 

DlOSCORIDES , 210 

'The  Persian  Slave  to  his  Master ......  .Merivale 211 

Spartan  Virtue . .  .  ibid.  211 

ETTPHORION 211 

On  a  Corpse  Washed  Ashore ; Merivale. 211 

On  Tears ibid.  212 

DAMAGETES 212 

On  a  Wife  Dying  in  her  Husband's  Absence Merivale 212 

On  Two  Theban  Brothers,  Slain  in  Thrace ibid.  212 


LECTUEE  THE  NINTH. 

V    BION 213 

Elegy  on  Adonis Elton 214 

Hymn  to  the  Evening  Star Merivale 217 

The  Teacher  Taught Fawkes 217 

The  Seasons Elton 217 

Shortness  of  Life ibid. 218 

Friendship Fawkes 218 

v  MOSCHUS 219 

Lament  for  Bion Elton 220 

Alpheus  and  Arethusa Bland 223 

The  Contrast ibid. 224 

A  Mother  Lamenting  her  Children Faiokes. 224 

NlCANDER 224 

Of  the  Serpent  Cerastes Elton 225 

From  the  Counter-Poisons ibid. 226 

TTMNES 226 

On  One  who  Died  in  a  Foreign  Country Merivale 227 

Spartan  Virtue ibid. 227 ' 

POLYSTRATUS 227 

On  the  Destruction  of  Corinth Merivale 227 

ANTIPATER  OF  SIDON 227 

On  Orpheus Bland 228 

On  Homer's  Birth Merivale 228 

On  Sappho Hodgson 228 

On  Erinna. Merivale. 229 

On  Anacreon Bland. 229 

On  Pindar Merivale 229 

The  Widow's  Offering ibid.    229 

The  Honest  Shepherd Prior 229 

AECHIAS 230 

Life  and  Death Bland. 230 

On  a  Shipwrecked  Mariner Wrangham 230 

On  an  Old  Race  Horse Hay 230 

MELEAGER 231 

The  Return  of  Spring Bland. 232 


CONTENTS.  xv 

TRANSLATORS.  PAGE 

Song T.  Moore 232 

The  Din  of  Love ibid.  ^ .  233 

To  his  Mistress  Sleeping Merivale 233 

The  Vow ibid.  233 

The  Comparison ; Shepherd 234 

The  Gifts  of  the  Graces Keen 234 

Music  and  Beauty • Merivale 234 

The  Sailor's  Return t ibid.  234 

Niobe...' ibid.  235 

The  Morning  Star ibid.  236 

Epitaph  on  a  Young  Bride ibid.  235 

Epitaph  on  Heliodora ; . . ; ibid.  235 

Epitaph  on  ^Esigenes ibid.  236 

Epitaph  on  Meleager  of  Gadara ibid.  236 

PHILODEMUS 236 

Invitation  to  the  Anniversary  of  Epicurus Merivale. 237 

ZONAS 237 

On  a  Shipwrecked  Mariner Bland. 237 

ANTIPHILUS 237 

On  an  Ancient  Oak • Merivale. 237 

ANTIPATER  OF  THESSALONICA 238 

Greek  Poetesses C.  North 238 

XENOCRITES 239 

On  a  Daughter  Drowned  at  Sea. Bland. 239 

CAEPHYLIDES 240 

On  a  Happy  Old  Man Bland. 240 

PALLADUS 241 

All  the  World  's  a  Stage Merivale 241 

DEMOCHARIS 242 

On  the  Picture  of  Sappho Hodgson 242 


LECTUKE  THE  TENTH. 

EPIO  AND  DRAMATIC  POETRY  COMPARED. 243 

ORIGIN  OF  THE  DRAMA 245 

THESPIS 246 

PHRYNICHUS 246 

CHCERILUS 251 

PRATINAS 251 

Lines  on  the  Falling  of  the  Platform Cumberland. 251 

^SCHYLUS 251 

Invocation  of  Prometheus  to  the  Air Bulwer 255 

Prometheus'  Reply  to  Ocean ibid.   255 

Prometheus  Hurled  into  the  Watery  Abyss Potter 257 

Clytemnestra's  Reply ibid. 257 

Lament  for  the  Loss  of  Helen ibid. 259 

Sceiie  from  the  Persians..  .  ibid.  ..  ,.260 


xvi  CONTENTS. 


LECTURE  THE  ELEVENTH. 

TRANSLATORS.  PAGB 

SOPHOCLES 269 

Scene  from  the  Antigone Bulwer 278 

The  Pythian  Races ibid 290 

Chorus  from  The  Trachinise Potter 291 

Ajax's  Dying  Speech , ibid. 293 

Chorus  of  Sailors  from  Philoctetes Cumberland. 295 

COMPARISON  BETWEEN  ^SCHYLUS  AND  SOPHOCLES 296 


LECTUBE  THE  TWELFTH. 

EURIPIDES 299 

Lines  from  the  Cyclops Cumberland. ......  305 

Part  of  a  Chorus  in  the  Hecuba ibid.       306 

Part  of  a  Chorus  in  the  Alcestes Chapman 306 

The  Death  of  Alcestes ". Potter. f. .  307 

Scene  from  the  Medea ibid. 309 

Phaedra's  Passion , Cumberland 314 

Sc'ene  from  the  Hecuba Potter 315 

Scene  from  the  Orestes ibid. 318 

Fragments Rogers 321 

NEOPHRON 322 

ION 322 

ARISTARCHUS 328 

ACH^EUS 323 

CARCINUS 323 

XENOCLES 323 

AGATHON 323 

CH/EREMON 324 

THEODECTES.  .  .  325 


LECTUKE  THE  THIRTEENTH.   , 

SUSARION 327 

MYLLUS 329 

ENETES 329 

EUXONIDES 329 

CHIONIDES 329 

MAGNES , 329 

ECPHANTIDES 330 

EPIOHARMUS 330 

Marriage Cumberland. 332 

Genealogies ibid.       332 

Moral  Maxims ibid.       332 

PHORMIS >...'. 333 

DINOLOCHUS . .  .333 


CONTENTS.  xvii 

TRANSLATORS.  PAGE 

CRATINUS. , 335 

Descriptioa  by  Aristophanes .  ^. Brown 837 

EUPOLIS . 338 

Altered  Condition  of  Athens Cumberland. 339 

The  Parasite ibid.  339 

CRATES 340 

On  Old  Age Cumberland. 341 

PLATO 342 

Address  to  a  Statue  of  Mercury Cumberland. 343 

The  Tomb  of  Themistocles ibid.  343 

Dialogue  between  a  Father  and  a  Sophist ibid.  343 

PHERECRATES 344 

On  Old  Age Cumberland. 344 

Satire  upon  "Woman ibid.  345 

Scene  from  the  Miners ibid.  345 

PHILONIDES 346 

Fragment Cumberland. 346 


LECTUKE  THE  FOURTEENTH. 

ARISTOPHANES S51 

Scene  from  the  Acharnians Cumberland. 359 

Scene  from  the  Knights Mitchell 362 

Parabasis  from  the  same ibid.    364 

Choral  Hymn ibid.    365 

Scene  from  the  Clouds Cumberland. 368 

Chorus  from  the  Peace Mitchell 373 

Parabasis  from  the  Birds..  ..Frere..  .  375 


LECTURE  THE  FIFTEENTH. 

THE  MIDDLE  COMEDY 379 

PHILIPPUS 381 

Loquacity Cumberland. 381 

EUBULUS 381 

Bacchus'  Directions  not  to  Abuse  his  Blessings Cumberland. 381 

ANAXANDRIDES 382 

Old  Age Cumberland. 383 

ANTIPHANES 384 

Satire  upon  Woman. Cumberland. 384 

Dialogue  between  a  Traveller  and  the  King  of  Cyprus  ibid.  385 

Raillery  from  a  Servant  of  his  Master ibid.  385 

Conscience  the  Best  Law ibid.  386 

No  Life  without  Love ibid.  386 

Not  Lost,  but  Gone  Before ibid.  386 

Death ibid.  386 

The  Parasite ibid.  386 

Lines  on  a  Fountain ibid.  386 

2 


xviii  CONTENTS. 

TRANSLATORS.  PAGE 

ARISTOPHON 387 

Marriage Cumberland.. ......  387 

Love. * ibid.  388 

The  Disciples  of  Pythagoras ibid.  388 

CLEARCHUS 388 

Drunkenness Cumberland. 389 

EPICRATES 389 

Disquisitions  of  the  Academy. Cumberland. 390 

MNESIMACHUS 391 

A  Company  of  Banditti Cumberland. 392 

STRATON 392 

Conceited  Humor  of  a  Cook. Cumberland. 392 

MOSOHIOX , 393 

The  Exile Cumberland. .  T 393 

The  Dead ibid.  393 

ALEXIS 394 

Gluttons  and  Drunkards Cumberland. 394 

The  Epicureans ibid.  395 

Parents  and  Children ibid.  396 

Wickedness  of  Woman ibid.  '. . .  396 

Love ibid.  397 

SOTADES 397 

Unhappy  Fate  of  Genius Cumberland. 398 

THEOPHILUS 398 

Love Cumberland. 398 

TIMOCLES 399 

Eloquence  of  Demosthenes Cumberland. 399 

Moral  Use  of  the  Tragic  Drama ibid.  399 

THE  NEW  COMEDY 400 

MENANDER „ 401 

Moral  Maxims Cumberland. 403 

Misanthropy  and  Discontent ibid. 403 

Of  all  Creatures  Man  is  Most  Unhappy ibid.  404 

Lustration ibid.  404 

Woman  and  Marriage ibid.  404 

Life ibid.  405 

Envy ibid.  405 

Advice  to  the  Covetous ibid,  405 

The  Rich  not  Happier  than  Others ibid.  ..' 406 

Consolation  in  Misfortune ibid.  406 

PHILEMON 406 

Moral  Maxims Cumberland. 408 

Effect  of  Riches ibid.  408 

Truth ibid.  408 

The  Just  Man ibid.  408 

The  Sovereign  Good ibid.  409 

Hopeless  Anguish ibid.  , 409 

A  Word  to  the  Idle  and  Thoughtless ibid.  409 

DIPHILUS 410 

Law  against  Spendthrifts Cumberland 410 

APOLLODORUS 411 

Fragments , Cumberland. 411 

A  Friendly  Welcome ibid.  41 1 


CONTENTS.  xix 

LECTUKE  THE  SIXTEENTH. 

PA.OB 

PHILOSOPHY 413 

THALES 415 

ANAXIMANDER. 416 

ANAXIMENES 417 

HERACLITUS 418 

ANAXAGORAS 419 

ARCHELAUS ^ 421 

PYTHAGORAS 423 

SOCRATES 426 

ARISTIPPUS .' 427 

EUCLID 428 

PHJEDO 428 

ANTISTHENES 428 

ZENO 428 

CHRYSIPPUS 429 

PLATO '. 429 

ARCESILAUS 430 

CARNEADES 430 

ARISTOTLE 430 

XENOPHANES 432 

EPICURUS 432 

PYRRHO...                                                                                                            ,.  433 


LECTUKE  THE  SEVENTEENTH. 

ORATORY. 434 

PlSISTRATUS 436 

THEMISTOCLES 436 

PERICLES 437 

ANTIPHON 440 

ANDOCIDES , 442 

LYSIAS 442 

ISOCRATES 444 

IS^EUS 446 

LYCURGUS » *. 447 

DEMOSTHENES ; 448 

^ESCHINES 454 

HYPERIDES 456 

DEMADES ., 457 

DlNARCHUS 457 

DEMETRIUS  PHALEREUS...  .   457 


LECTUKE  THE  EIGHTEENTH. 

HISTORY 459 

PHERECYDES 463 

CADMUS...  , 464 


xx  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

HECAT^EUS 464 

ACUSILAUS 465 

CHARON 465 

XANTHUS 466 

HELLANICUS 466 

HERODOTUS 467 

THUCYDIDES , 473 

XENOPHON 478 

CTESIAS 480 

POLYBIUS 481 

DlODORUS    SlCULTTS 482 

DIONYSIUS  OF  HALICARNASSUS 483 

PLUTARCH 483 

ARRIAN 484 

APPIAN 484 

DION  CASSIUS 485 

,.    485 


Kttlun  t)rt  fnst. 


INTRODUCTION. 

OF  all  the  countries  of  Ancient  Europe,  none  was  so  advantageously 
situated  as  Greece.  On  the  eastern  side  the  .ZEgean  sea,  studded  with 
islands,  brought  it  into  immediate  contact  with  Asia  Minor  and  the  fron- 
tier of  Phoenicia ;  and  the  voyage  to  Egypt,  across  the  Mediterranean, 
though  it  afforded  not  so  many  resting  places  for  the  mariner,  was  neither 
long  nor  difficult.  Towards  the  west,  the  passage  to  Italy  was  both  short 
and  easy,  being  interrupted  only  by  the  Adriatic. 

This  interesting  country,  according  to  information  received  from  both 
sacred  history  and  tradition,  was  peopled  at  an  earlier  period  than 
any  other  portion  of  the  western  world.  The  first  inhabitants  were 
tribes  of  hunters  and  shepherds,  whose  earliest  approaches  to  civil- 
ization were  associations  for  mutual  defence  against  the  robber-tribes, 
and  the  Phoenician  pirates,  whose  vessels  swept  the  coast  of  the  JEgean, 
to  seize  unsuspecting  men  and  women,  and  reduce  them  to  slavery. 
Of  these  tribes  the  Pelasgi  were  the  most  conspicuous,  and  the  first 
that  acquired  any  ascendancy  in  Greece.  They  were,  doubtless,  of 
Asiatic  origin,  and  their  earliest  permanent  settlements  were  Sipyon 
and  Argos,  both  within  the  Peloponnesus.  The  former  was  founded 
about  2000  A. C.,  and  the  latter  two  centuries  afterwards.  Of  the  ad- 
venturers who  formed  the  first  of  these  settlements,  Inachus,  a  contem- 
porary of  the  Jewish  patriarch  Abraham,  was  the  leader ;  but  of  his  his- 
tory nothing  certain  is  known.  From  the  Peloponnesus,  the  Pelasgi 
extended  themselves  northward  to  Attica,  Bceotia,  and  Thessaly,  under 
different  leaders,  and  here  learned  to  apply  themselves  to  agriculture,  and 
continued  to  flourish  undisturbed  until  1500  A.C. 

The  Pelasgi  were  followed  by  the  Hellenes,  a  milder  and  more  humane 
race,  who  first  appeared  on  Mount  Parnassus,  in  Phocis,  under  Deucalion, 
about  1433  A.C.  Being,  however,  soon  after  driven  thence  by  a  flood, 
they  migrated  into  Thessaly,  and  expelled  the  Pelasgi  from  that  territory. 
From  this  period  the  Hellenes,  who  derived  their  name  from  Hellen, 
one  of  the  sons  of  Deucalion,  rapidly  increased,  and  finally  extended  their 


22  INTRODUCTION.  [LECT.  I. 

dominion  over  the  greater  part  of  Greece,  dispossessing  the  more  ancient 
race,  who  retained  only  the  mountainous  parts  of  Arcadia,  and  the  land 
of  Dodona.  Numbers  of  the  Pelasgi,  thus  driven  from  their  own  coun- 
try, emigrated  into  Italy,  and  there  laid  the  foundation  of  those  Etruscan 
States  which  afterwards  held  so  prominent  a  place  in  the  history  of  that 
peninsula. 

The  Hellenic  race  soon  became  divided  into  four  great  branches — the 
^Eolians,  the  Dorians,  the  lonians,  and  the  Achseans,  each  of  which,  in 
the  historic  age  of  Greece,  was  characterized  by  many  strong  and  marked 
peculiarities  of  dialect,  customs,  political  government,  and  we  may, 
perhaps,  add  religion ;  or,  at  least  heroic  traditions,  though  these  appear 
to  be  connected  more  with  the  localities  in  which  they  settled,  than  with 
the  stock  from  which  they  sprung.  Of  these  different  races,  the  first 
and  second  received  their  names  from  j^Eolis  and  Dorus,  two  of  the  sons 
of  Hellen,  and  the  third  and  fourth  from  his  grandsons,  Ion  and  Achseus. 

The  attractive  features  of  the  Grecian  territory  becoming,  about  this 
time  known  throughout  the  more  advanced  nations  of  the  east,  many 
adventurers  thence  flocked  thither,  and,  from  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth 
to  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century  before  the  Christian  era,  established 
colonial  settlements  in  the  country.  These  colonists  were  chiefly  from 
Egypt,  Phoenicia,  and  Phrygia ;  and  as  they  brought  with  them  the  im- 
provements in  arts  and  sciences  that  had  been  made  in  their  respective 
countries,  they  greatly  advanced  the  progress  of  civilization  in  Greece. 

The  first  of  these  was  an  Egyptian  colony  from  Sais,  in  the  Delta,  and 
was  led  by  Cecrops  into  Attica,  1550  A.C.  This  prince  is  said  to  have 
brought  with  him,  and  introduced  into  the  country,  the  institution  of 
marriage  and  the  first  elements  of  civilization.  A  second  colony,  from 
Lower  Egypt,  was  led  by  Danseus,  who  fled  from  a  brother's  enmity,  and 
settled  in  Argos,  1500  A.C.  The  fable  of  his  fifty  daughters  is  well 
known ;  but  its  historical  foundation  is  altogether  uncertain. 

About  the  same  time  that  Danaeus  settled  in  Argos,  Cadmus,  a  Pho3- 
nician,  led  a  colony  into  Boeotia,  and  founded  Thebes.  To  this  adven- 
turer the  Greeks  are  indebted  for  the  first  introduction  of  alphabetical 
characters  into  their  country.  Phrygia  also,  the  north-western  kingdom 
of  Asia  Minor,  contributed,  at  this  time,  her  share  towards  the  improve- 
ment of  the  Greeks.  Pelops,  a  prince  of  that  country,  led  a  colony  into 
Peloponnesus,  1400  A.C. ;  and  though  he  did  not  acquire  so  large  af  king- 
dom as  the  other  adventurers  just  mentioned,  yet  his  descendants,  by  in- 
termarriages with  the  royal  families  of  Argos  and  Lacedsemon,  acquired 
such  permanent  influence,  that  they  became  supreme  over  the  peninsula, 
and  gave  it  the  name  of  their  great  ancestor. 

But,  notwithstanding  the  presence  of  these  more  enlightened  settlers, 
several  circumstances  still  contributed  to  impede  the  progress  of  Grecian 
civilization.  The  coasts  of  the  country  were  temptingly  exposed  to  the 
Pho3nicians,  the  Carians,  and  the  islanders  of  the  ^Egean,  who  at  first 


1225  A.C.]  INTRODUCTION.  23 

made  the  art  of  navigation  subservient  to  piracy  rather  than  commerce  ; 
and  the  Thracians,  the  Amazons,  and  other  barbarous  tribes  from  the 
north,  made  frequent  incursions  into  the  exposed  Hellenic  provinces.  To 
resist  these  incursions,  the  celebrated  Amphyctionic  league  was  founded 
by  Amphyction,  a  descendant  of  Deucalion  ;  and  the  confederation  thus 
formed  was  soon  found  to  be  so  beneficial,  that  it  gradually  received  fresh 
accessions,  until  it  soon  embraced  the  greater  part  of  the  States  of  Greece. 
The  deputies  to  the  council  representing  this  league  met  semi- annually, 
and  alternately  at  Delphi  and  Thermopylae. 

Greece  was  also,  at  this  period,  infested  with  bands  of  robbers,  who 
deemed  plunder  an  honorable  profession,  and  some  of  whom  exercised  the 
most  atrocious  cruelties  on  their  hapless  victims.  These  freebooters 
eventually  became  so  bold  and  desperate,  as  to  render  their  destruction 
the  only  security  for  the  prosperity  of  Greece  ;  and  the  adventurers  who 
acquired  most  fame  in  the  contest  that  followed  were  Perseus,  Hercules, 
Bellerophon,  Theseus,  and  Castor  and  Pollux,  whose  romantic  histories 
form  a  very  large  portion  of  that  part  of  Grecian  mythology  which  was 
of  native  origin. 

In  this  early  and  uncertain  period  of  Grecian  history,  the  most  cele- 
brated events  are  the  Argonautic  Expedition,  the  Theban  Wars,  the 
Siege  of  Troy,  the  Return  of  t/ie  Heraclidce,  and  the  Migration  of  tJie 
lonians  and  JEolian  Colonies  to  Asia  Minor. 

"What  was  the  real  nature,  and  what  were  the  objects  of  the  Argo- 
nautic expedition,  it  is  very  difficult  to  discover.  It  appears  certain,  how- 
ever, that  in  the  thirteenth  century  before  the  Christian  era,  a  Thessalian 
prince,  named  Jason,  collected  the  young  chivalry  of  Greece,  and  sailed 
on  an  expedition,  partly  commercial  and  partly  piratical,  in  a  ship  called 
the  Argo,  to  the  eastern  shores  of  the  Euxine  sea.  After  a  series  of 
wild  and  romantic  adventures,  and  many  severe  contests  with  the  natives, 
the  Argonauts  succeeded  in  planting  a  colony  in  Colchis ;  and  on  their 
return,  Jason,  their  leader  and  chief,  brought  Medea,  a  princess  of  that 
country,  home  with  him  to  Thessaly.  But  though  impenetrable  darkness 
veils  the  nature  of  this  expedition,  there  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  con- 
sequences that  resulted  from  it.  From  the  era  of  the  Argonauts,  we 
discover  among  the  Greeks  not  only  a  more  daring  and  more  enlarged 
spirit  of  enterprize,  but  a  more  decisive  and  rapid  progress  towards  civil- 
ization and  humanity. 

Cadmus  had  no  sooner  given  permanence  to  his  new  settlement  in 
Bceotia,  than  he  established  at  Thebes  the  worship  of  Bacchus;  and  the 
mythology  of  the  country  is  full  of  the  miseries  and  crimes  that  debased 
and  eventually  ruined  the  family  of  the  founder  of  the  State.  QEclipus, 
the  most  remarkable  of  the  descendants  of  Cadmus,  having  been  removed 


24  INTRODUCTION.  [Lscr.  I. 

from  his  throne  for  an  involuntary  series  of  criminal  acts,  his  sons, 
Etiocles  and  Polynices,  seized  the  kingdom,  and  agreed  to  reign  alter- 
nately. Etiocles  afterwards  refused  to  conform  to  the  terms  of  the 
agreement;  and  Polynices  being  joined  by  six  of  the  most  eminent  gen- 
erals of  Greece,  commenced  the  memorable  war  of  The  Seven  against 
TJiebes.  This  event  occurred  1225  A.C.,  and  the  result  was  entirely 
favorable  to  the  allies.  Etiocles  and  Polynices  fell  by  mutual  wounds, 
and  Creon,  who  succeeded  to  the  Theban  throne,  routed  the  confederate 
forces,  five  of  whose  leaders  were  left  dead  on  the  field.  After  the  lapse 
of  about  ten  years,  the  sons  of  the  allied  princes,  called  the  Epigoni, 
marched  against  Thebes,  to  revenge  the  death  of  their  fathers;  and 
a  sanguinary  conflict  ensuing,  the  Thebans  were  routed  with  great 
slaughter,  their  leaders  slain,  and  their  city  captured.  These  wars  ren- 
dered the  Thebans,  for  a  long  time,  odious  to  the  rest  of  the  Greeks ; 
and  we  shall  see  that  they  repaid  this  hatred  by  infidelity  to  the  Hellenic 
cause  during  the  Persian  war. 

In  a  plundering  expedition  of  the  Pelopidse  to  the  Phrygian  cost,  a 
.young  prince  named  Podarces,  was  carried  away  captive,  and  detained 
until  a  large  ransom  was  paid  for  his  liberation.  From  this  circumstance 
he  was  afterwards  called  Priam,  or  "  the  ransomed."  At  a  subsequent 
period,  Priam  having  become  king  of  Troy,  sent  his  son  Paris,  or  Alexander, 
as  an  ambassador  to  the  Peloponnesian  princes,  probably  to  negotiate  a 
peace.  By  his  winning  address  and  other  accomplishments,  the  young 
prince  beguiled  Helen,  the  beautiful  wife  of  Menelaus,  king  of  Sparta,  of 
her  affections,  and  conveyed  her  with  some  valuable  treasures  to  Troy. 
The  injured  husband  applied  to  his  countrymen  to  aid  him  in  seeking  such 
redress  as  the  outrage  demanded,  and  a  large  army  was  accordingly  raised 
by  the  confederate  kings  of  the  country,  and  placed  tinder  the  command 
of  Agamemnon,  the  brother  of  Menelaus. 

-Troy  was  at  this  time  the  capital  of  an  extensive  and  powerful  king- 
dom, and  possessed,  besides  its  own  subjects,  many  allies.  It  could 
muster,  according  to  Homer,  an  army  of  fifty  thousand  men,  while  its 
walls  were  sufficiently  strong  to  defy  the  imperfect  machine  then  used  in 
sieges,  and  its  citadel  was  impregnable.  Against  this  powerful  kingdom 
the  Greek  princes  undertook  their  expedition,  with  an  army  of  one  hun- 
dred thousand  men,  conveyed  to  the  enemies  coast  in  eleven  hundred 
and  eighty-six  ships.  These  ships  were  very  rudely  constructed  and 
fitted  out,  having  only  half  decks,  and  using  stones  for  an  anchor  :  they 
were  rowed  by  the  common  soldiers,  and  when  they  reached  their  destina- 
tion, were  hauled  upon  land,  and  many  of  them  constructed  into  a  camp. 
The  war  was  protracted  for  ten  years,  during  which  many  battles  were 
fought  under  the  walls  of  Troy  ;  and  the  military  weapons  used  were,  in 
every  respect,  similar  to  those  employed  by  the  ancient  Egyptians.  The 
city  was  finally  taken  by  stratagem,  1183  A.C.r  and  razed  to  the  ground, 


1116A.C.]  INTRODUCTION.  25 

• — many  of  the  inhabitants  being  slain  or  taken  prisoners,  whilst  those 
that  escaped  were  forced  to  become  exiles  in  distant  lands.  The  victors, 
however,  suffered  nearly  as  much  as  the  vanquished ;  for  during  the  pro- 
tracted absence  o/  the  chiefs,  usurpers,  aided  by  faithless  wives,  and  the 
rising  ambition  of  youthful  aspirants  to  distinction,  seized  upon  many  of 
their  thrones,  and  obtained  possession  of  their  kingdoms.  These  circum- 
stances necessarily  led  to  fierce  wars  and  intestine  commotions,  which 
again  greatly  retarded  the  progress  of  Grecian  civilization. 

The  posterity  of  Pelops,  as  we  have  already  observed,  obtained  by  art 
and  address  the  possession  of  the  entire  Pelopennosus,  to  the  exclusion 
of  the  more  ancient  dynasties.  Their  most  formidable  rivals  were  the 
Perseidae,  who  claimed  through  their  ancestor,  Perseus,  the  honor  of  a 
divine  descent,  and  who  could  boast  of  having  in  their  family  such  heroes 
#s  Perseus,  Bellerophon,  and  Hercules.  From  the  last  of  these  heroes,  a 
powerful  branch  of  the  Perseid  family  received  the  name  of  the  Hera- 
clidse.  They  were  dreaded  by  the  Pelopid  sovereigns,  and  hence  were 
persecuted  by  them,  and  finally  driven  into  exile.  These  exiles  first 
repaired  to  Athens,  where  they  were  hospitably  received,  and  for  some 
time  kindly  entertained ;  but  desirous  of  obtaining  an  independent 
abode,  they  retired  to  the  mountainous  district  of  Doris,  and  soon  became 
masters  of  that  wild  and  barren  province. 

Amid  the  Dorian  mountains,  which  were  ill  calculated  to  satisfy  men 
whose  ancestors  had  inherited  the  fertile  plains  of  the  Peloponnesus,  the 
Heraclidae  remained,  awaiting  an  opportunity  to  regain  possession  of 
their  ancient  inheritance.  The  confusion  with  which  the  Trojan  war 
filled  all  Greece,  and  to  which  we  have  just  alluded,  at  length  presented 
such  opportunity ;  and  appointing  Naupactus,  on  the  Corinthian  gulf,  as 
their  rendezvous,  they  there  met,  and  were  soon  joined  by  a  body  of 
jEtolians,  and  several  of  the  Dorian  tribes.  Every  circumstance  now 
favored  the  enterprise.  A  prosperous  gale  wafted  their  armament  to  the 
eastern  coast  of  the  Peloponnesus — by  secret  intrigue  a  party  was  gained 
in  Lacedaemon — Laconia  was  betrayed  into  the  hands  of  the  invaders — 
Argolis,  Messenia,  Elis,  and  Corinth,  submitted  to  their  authority — leav- 
ing, in  the  whole  peninsula,  only  the  mountainous  district  of  Arcadia, 
and  the  coast  province  of  Achaia,  unsubdued.  The  revolution  was  com- 
plete ;  and  though  effected  with  little  bloodshed,  it  was  not  without  great 
oppression  of  the  ancient  inhabitants,  many  of  whom  migrated  to  other 
parts  of  Greece,  while  those  who  remained  were  reduced  to  the  most  ab- 
ject slavery.  The  return  of  the  Heraclidae  occurred  about  11 16  A.C. 

The  last  of  the  great  event,  that  distinguished  the  uncertain  period  of 
Grecian  history  to  which  our  attention  has  hitherto  been  directed,  was  the 
establishment  ef  the  JEolian  and  Ionian  colonies  in  Asia  Minor.  The 
motives  which  induced  their  migration  thither,  and  the  spirit  of  enterprise 


26  INTRODUCTION".  [LECT.  I 

and  independence  which  they  carried  with  them  into  their  new  settlements, 
soon  raised  them  to  the  most  commanding  position.  Their  commerce, 
within  less  than  a  century,  exceeded  that  of  the  parent  state,  and  in 
learning  and  the  arts  they  equally  excelled.  The  earliest  of  the  Grecian 
poets,  Homer  and  Hesiod,  and  Thales  and  Pythagoras,  their  first  philos- 
ophers, were  all  natives  of  the  country. 

The  .ZEolian  emigration  occurred  1124  A.C.  Passing  out  of  the 
Peloponnesus,  they  first  established  themselves  in  Thrace,  whence,  after 
the  first  generation  had  passed  away,  they  removed  to  Asia,  and  occupied 
the  coast  of  Mysia  and  Caria,  to  which  they  gave  the  name  of  jEolia. 
They  acquired  possession,  also,  of  the  islands  of  Lesbos,  Tenedos,  and  a 
large  cluster  of  smaller  islands  in  the  vicinity.  They  erected  on  the  main 
land  twelve  cities,  of  which  Cyme  and  Smyrna  were  the  chief.  The  latter 
city  flourished  in  great  splendor  for  over  five  centuries;  but  in  600  A.G. 
it  was  destroyed  by  the  Lydians,  and  was  not  rebuilt  until  four  hundred, 
years  afterwards,  when  it  became  an  important  and  prosperous  Macedo- 
nian colony.  The  .ZEolian  cities  maintained  their  independence  until 
Lydia  was  conquered  by  Cyrus  the  Great,  when  those  on  the  main  land 
were  reduced  under  the  power  of  the  Persian,  monarchy. 

The  Ionian  migration  took  place  1044  A.C.  about  eighty  years  after 
the  JEolian.  It  was  the  largest  and  most  important  migration  that  ever 
left  Greece ;  and,  very  fortunately,  many  of  the  details  of  its  history  have 
been  preserved.  It  originated  in  the  abolition  of  royalty  at  Athens; 
the  younger  sons  of  Codrus,  not  being  willing  to  live  as  private  citizens, 
resolved  to  lead  a  colony  into  Asia,  and  there  form  a  new  settlement. 
They  were  readily  joined  by  the  Ionian  exiles  from  the  northern  Peloponne- 
sus, who  were  straitened  for  corn  in  Attica,  and  by  large  bands  of  emigrants 
from  the  neighboring  States,  who  were  not  satisfied  with  the  political 
state  of  things  at  home.  With  a  liberal  supply  of  ships  and  munitions 
of  war,  they  set  sail,  and  pursuing  their  voyage  to  Asia  Minor,  they 
landed  on  the  coast  south  of  jEolis.  After  a  sanguinary  struggle  of 
many  months,  the  barbarian  natives  were  compelled  to  resign  their  lands 
to  the  intruders ;  and  the  lonians  thus  acquired  possession  of  the  whole 
of  the  valuable  district  between  Miletus  and  Mount  Sipylus. 

Having  thus  obtained  possession  of  the  country,  the  lonians  at  once 
began  to  build  cities,  and  soon  built  Ephesus,  Erythrae,  Clazomense, 
Colophon,  Myus,  Miletus,  Priene,  PhocaSa,  Lebedos,  Samos,  Teos,  and 
Chios,  all  of  which  were  united  by  an  Amphictyonic  confederacy.  Of 
these  colonies  Miletus  was  the  chief,  though  Ephesus  was  the  most  cele- 
brated of  the  cities.  The  deputies  from  these  colonies  met  in  Amphicty- 
onic council  at  stated  times,  in.  a  temple  of  Neptune,  erected  on  the 
headland  of  Mycale,  and  deliberated  on  all  matters  that  affected  the 
Ionian  league ;  but  the  council  never  interfered  with  the  domestic  govern 
ment  of  the  several  cities.  They  also  celebrated  festivals  and  public 
games,  which  rivalled,  in  magnificence,  those  of  the  parent  country.  In 


1000A.C.  INTRODUCTION.  2? 

the  midst  of  their  prosperity,  the  Ionian  cities  became  involved  in  a  long 
and  arduous  struggle  with  the  kingdom  of  Lydia,  which  continued,  almost 
without  intermission,  until  both  eventually  became  absorbed  in  the  rising 
greatness  of  the  Persian  empire. 

From  the  early  condition  of  Greece  to  which  our  attention  has  hitherto 
been  directed,  and  which  may  properly  be  called  the  first  period  of  the 
history  of  that  country,  we  now  proceed  to  notice  those  events  and  inci- 
dents in  her  history,  upon  which  more  reliance  can  be  placed.  The 
origin  of  the  kingdom  of  Sparta,  and  the  institutions  of  Lycurgus,  will  first 
demand  our  attention  ;  after  which  we  shall  briefly  review  the  early  his- 
tory of  Athens.  This  second  period  in  the  history  of  Greece  embraces 
nearly  five  hundred  years,  and  extends  from  about  1000  A.C.  down  to 
the  final  expulsion  of  Hippius,  510  A.C. 

After  the  Heraclidse,  on  their  return  into  the  Peloponnesus,  had 
gained  possession  of  the  country,  the  associated  princes  divided  the  con- 
quered provinces  among  themselves  by  lot.  To  the  share  of  Aristodemus 
Laconia  fell ;  and  he,  at  his  death,  left  the  kingdom  to  his  twin  sons, 
Eurysthenes  and  Procles,  who  reigned  conjointly ;  and  from  that  time 
forward — 1004  A.C. — Sparta  was  governed  by  two  kings.  During  the 
two  centuries  that  followed  the  accession  of  Eurysthenes  and  Procles  to 
the  throne  of  Sparta,  the  Spartans  were  engaged  in  tedious  wars  with  the 
Argives,  and  their  State  was  also  agitated  by  domestic  contests,  resulting 
from  the  unequal  division  of  property,  the  ambition  of  rival  nobles,  and 
the  diminished  power  of  the  kings.  In  this  emergency  Lycurgus,  in 
880  A.C.,  obtained  the  superior  power  as  guardian  of  his  nephew  Chare- 
laus,  and  at  once  directed  his  attention  to  the  establishment  of  a  system 
of  law,  which  would  prevent  the  recurrence  of  such  disorders. 

The  principal  object  of  the  institutions  of  Lycurgus,  was  to  insure  the 
continuance  of  the  Spartans  as  a  dominant  military  caste,  by  perpetuating 
a  race  of  athletic  and  warlike  men ;  and  hence  his  laws  referred  rather 
to  domestic  life  and  physical  education  than  to  the  constitution  of  the 
State,  or  the  form  of  its  government.  To  effect  this  important  purpose, 
however,  great  skill  and  address  were  requisite  ;  as  the  Spartan  nobilityr 
especially  the  youthful  portion  of  them,  were  violently  opposed  to  any 
change  by  which  their  power  and  influence  would  be  curtailed.  To 
gratify  them,  therefore,  he  retained  the  caste  between  the  Spartans  and 
Laconians,  and  the  double  line  of  kings  as  leaders  in  war  and  first  magis- 
trates in  peace.  But  to  restrain  the  power  of  the  latter  he  instituted  a 
senate  of  thirty  members,  to  which  the  kings  belonged,  and  over  whose 
deliberations  one  of  them  presided  ;  though  with  no  more  authority  than 
the  other  members.  To  increase  the  authority,  and  add  to  the  respectabil- 
ity of  the  senatorial  body,  no  citizen  was  eligible  to  a  seat  in  that  body  who 
did  not  sustain  an  unblemished  character,  and  had  not  passed  the  sixtieth 


28  INTRODUCTION.  [LKCT.  L 

year  of  his  age.  The  court  of  the  Epkori,  though  frequently  attributed 
to  Lycurgus,  was  not  founded  until  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  years 
after  that  legislator's  death.  The  power  of  the  ephori  was  entirely  of  a 
negative  character,  being  very  similar  to  that  of  the  tribunes  at  Rome. 

The  domestic  regulations  which  Lycurgus  introduced  into  Sparta  were 
of  much  more  importance,  and  exerted  a  much  greater  influence  over  the 
community,  than  his  public  institutions.  The  first  of  these  was  the 
division  of  all  the  land  of  Sparta  and  Laconia  into  thirty-nine  equal 
parts,  and  the  appropriation  of  one  of  these  parts  to  each  of  the  citizens. 
He  next  banished  the  use  of  gold  and  silver  money  from  the  State,  and 
introduced  in  its  place  an  iron  currency,  so  heavy  and  unwieldy  as  to  be 
of  no  service  in  any  other  part  of  Greece.  The  third  of  his  regulations 
was  the  division  of  all  the  citizens  'into  families  of  fifteen  persons  each, 
and  the  arrangement  of  public  tables,  at  which  all,  without  distinction, 
were  required  to  take  their  meals.  Their  food  was  of  the  simplest  kind, 
and  as  private  tables  were  unknown,  every  species  of  luxury  was  thus 
entirely  banished  from  the  Spartan  community.  Indeed,  every  arrange- 
ment of  Lycurgus  had  a  direct  tendency  towards  the  formation  of  a 
military  commonwealth ;  and  as  no  citizen  was  permitted  to  follow  any 
trade  or  occupation  of  a  domestic  nature,  these  being  confined  exclusively 
to  their  Helots  or  slaves,  their  excessive  leisure  threw  them  constantly 
together  in  the  porticoes,  or  other  public  places,  where  their  entire  time 
was  passed. 

Sparta,  their  capital  city,  was  built  on  a  series  of  hills,  whose  outlines 
were  varied  and  romantic,  along  the  right  bank  of  the  Eurotas,  within 
sight  of  the  chain  of  Mount  Taygetum.  It  was  not  originally  surrounded 
with  walls,  but  the  highest  of  its  eminences  served  as  a  citadel ;  and 
round  this  hill  were  ranged  five  towns,  separated  by  corridor  walls, 
occupied  by  the  five  Spartan  tribes.  The  great  square  or  forum,  in 
which  the  principal  streets  of  those  towns  terminated,  was  embellished 
with  temples  and  statues :  it  contained  also  the  edifices  in  which  the 
senate,  the  ephori,  and  other  bodies  of  Spartan  magistrates  were  accus- 
tomed to  assemble.  Here,  also,  the  splendid  portico,  erected  by  the 
Spartans  from  their  share  of  the  spoils  taken  at  the  battle  of  Plataea,  was 
placed.  The  roof  of  this  portico,  instead  of  being  supported  by  pillars, 
rested  on  gigantic  statues,  representing  Persians  habited  in  flowing  robes. 
On  the  highest  of  the  eminences  stood  a  temple  of  Minerva,  which,  as 
well  as  the  grove  that  surrounded  it,  had  the  privileges  of  an  asylum.  It 
was  built  of  brass,  destitute  of  ornaments,  and  like  most  of  the  other 
public  edifices  of  the  city,  had  no  pretensions  to  architectural  beauty. 

More  than  a  century  elapsed  after  the  formation  of  the  institution  of 
Lycurgus,  before  the  Spartans  were  brought  in  hostile  contact  with  any 
of  the  neighboring  Grecian  States.  At  length,  however,  in  743  A.C.,  a 
war  broke  out  between  them  and  their  neighbors,  the  Messenians,  which, 
after  a  long  series  of  sanguinary  engagements,  whose  horrors  were  aggra- 


1550  A.C.]  INTRODUCTION'.  29 

vated  by  cruel  superstitions,  the  Messenians  were  totally  subdued,  and 
compelled  to  surrender  half  the  revenue  of  their  lands  to  the  Spartans. 
The  victors  used  their  triumph  in  the  most  offensively  oppressive  man- 
ner ;  until  the  Messenians,  no  longer  able  to  bear  the  degradation  of  their 
servile  condition,  were  driven  to  revolt.  Aristomenes,  the  worthy  Mes- 
senian  leader^  in  this  second  contest  with  the  Spartans,  was  descended 
from  the  ancient  line  of  Messenian  kings ;  and  so  rapid  and  decisive 
were  his  successes,  that  the  Spartans,  in  despair,  sought  the  advice  of  the 
oracle,  and  received  the  mortifying  response  that  they  should  solicit  a 
general  from  the  Athenians.  Ambassadors  were  accordingly  sent  to 
Athens  to  urge  this  request ;  and  the  Athenians  sent  them  the  poet 
Tyrteeus,  who,  though  he  had  frequently  borne  arms,  had  never  distin- 
guished himself  as  a  warrior.  With  his  patriotic  odes  he  roused  the 
spirit  of  the  Spartan  soldiers  to  the  greatest  height ;  but  notwithstanding 
this  advantage,  Aristomenes  found  means  to  protract  the  defence  of  his 
country  for  more  than  eleven  years ;  and  when  Messene  was  at  length 
taken,  it  was  taken  by  treachery,  and  not  by  force  of  arms.  This  event 
occurred  671  A.C. ;  and  from  that  period  Sparta  remained  in  comparative 
peace  until  the  Persian  war,  strengthening  herself,  and  preparing  for  the 
conspicuous  part  she  was  destined  to  take  in  that  great  contest. 

The  kingdom  of  Athens  is  generally  supposed  to,  have  owed  its  origin 
to  Cecrops,  an  Egyptian,  who  landed  in  Attica  about  1550  A.C.,  married 
the  daughter  of  Actaeus,  king  of  the  country,  and  at  his  death  succeeded 
to  the  crown.  He  taught  the  people,  who  had  hitherto  led  a  wandering 
life,  to  use  fixed  habitations,  divided  them  into  four  tribes,  and  instituted 
the  celebrated  court  of  Areopagus.  The  political  history  of  the  State 
does  not,  however,  begin  until  the  reign  of  Theseus,  w'ho  succeeded  his 
father  .ZEgeus  about  1300  A.C,  He  united  the  four  independent  districts 
or  tribes  into  which  Attica  had  been  divided  by  Cecrops,  into  one  body 
politic,  and  made  Athens  the  seat  of  government.  Among  his  successors 
the  most  distinguished  were  Amphictyon,  the  founder  of  the  celebrated 
Amphictyonic  council ;  Menestheus,  who  fell  before  Troy;  and  Codrus, 
whose  generous  devotion  to  the  good  of  his  country,  in  a  war  between  the 
Athenians  and  the  Heraclidse,  led  to  the  total  abolition  of  royalty.  ' 

The  chief  magistrate  of  Athens,  after  the  abolition  of  royalty  in  1 068 
A.C.  was  styled  Archon ;  and  of  the  family  of  Codrus,  thirteen  archons 
ruled  in  succession,  differing  from  kings  only  in  being  accountable  for 
their  administration.  The  first  of  these  archons  was  Medon,  and  the 
last  was  Alcmaeon;  and  after  the  death  of  the  latter  in  752  A.C.,  the 
duration  of  the  office  was  limited  to  ten  years ;  but  the  archons  were  still 
chosen  out  of  the  family  of  Codrus.  Under  this  latter  arrangement, 
seven  archons  succeeded  each  other ;  but  the  office  finally  ceased  in  682 
A.C.  Thenceforward  nine  annual  magistrates  were  appointed  by  the 
most  powerful  of  the  nobility,  and  selected  not  only  from  the  descendants 


30  INTRODUCTION.  [Lnor.  L 

of  Codrus  and  such  foreign  princes  as  had  taken  refuge  in  Athens,  but 
from  those  Athenian  families  which  time  and  accident  had  raised  to 
opulence  and  distinction.  These  changes  brought,  however,  no  advan- 
tages to  the  great  body  of  the  people,  as  the  equestrian  order,  so  called 
from  their  fighting  on  horseback,  enjoyed  all  authority — religious,  civil, 
and  military.  The  Athenian  populace  were,  in  fact,  reduced  to  a  con- 
dition of  the  most  miserable  servitude — their  lives  and  fortunes  being 
left  to  the  discretion  of  magistrates,  whose  usual  decisions  were  in  accord- 
ance with  party  prejudices  or  their  own  private  interests. 

Groaning  under  the  weight  of  these  oppressions,  and  observing,  at  the 
same  time,  the  happy  results  of  the  recent  institutions  established  by 
Lycurgus  in  Sparta,  the  people  of  Athens  now  demanded  a  new  organiza- 
tion of  their  government.  For  this  purpose  Draco,  a  man  of  unswerving 
integrity,  but  of  unexampled  severity,  was  chosen  in  622  A.C.  to  prepare 
for  them  a  code  of  laws.  His  laws  unfortunately,  however,  bore  the  im- 
press of  his  own  severe  character, — inflicting  the  punishment  of  death 
upon  every  description  of  crime,  whether  small  or  great.  But  this  indis- 
criminate cruelty  rendered  the  whole  code  inoperative :  human  nature 
revolted  against  such  legal  butchery ;  and  Draco,  in  order  to  avoid  the 
public  indignation,  fled  to  jEgina,  where  he  soon  after  died. 

This  ineifectual  effort  to  establish  a  system  of  laws  only  encouraged 
the  excesses  of  the  *aristocratic  factions,  whose  oppressions  produced  a 
state  of  perfect  anarchy,  and  excited  the  most  violent  indignation.  To 
remedy  these  disorders  Solon,  a  man  eminently  qualified  for  this  import- 
ant station,  was,  in  594  A.C.  unanimously  raised  to  the  dignity  of  first 
magistrate,  legislator,  and  sovereign  arbiter  of  the  State.  Descended 
from  the  ancient  kings  of  Athens,  he  applied  himself  in  early  life  to  com- 
mercial pursuits,  and  having  by  honorable  industry  acquired  a  competent 
fortune,  he  travelled  in  distant  lands  in  search  of  knowledge.  The  emi- 
nence to  which  he  attained  was  such,  that  he  was  reckoned  the  chief  of 
those  sages  commonly  known  as  the  Seven  Wise  Men  of  Greece. 

Preparatory  to  the  formation  of  his  new  constitution,  Solon  abolished 
all  the  laws  of  Draco,  except  those  against  murder.  He  next  turned  his 
attention  to  the  relation  between  debtors  and  creditors, — abolishing  the 
debts  of  the  former,  and,  as  an  equivalent  to  the  latter,  raising  the  stand- 
ard value  of  money.  He  next  abolished  slavery  and  imprisonment  for 
debt,  both  of  which  had  led  to  great  abuses  and  cruelties.  He  still  pre- 
served, however,  the  ancient  local  divisions  of  society,  by  arranging  the  citi- 
zens into  four  classes,  according  to  their  respective  incomes.  The 
first  class  comprised  all  those  citizens  whose  income,  in  grain,  exceeded 
five  hundred  bushels ;  the  second  class,  those  whose  income  exceeded 
three  hundred ;  the  third,  two ;  and  the  fourth,  those  whose  yearly 
income  fell  short  of  that  sum.  The  citizens  of  all  classes  enjoyed  the 
right  of  voting  in  the  popular  assemblies,  and  in  the  courts  of  judicature ; 
but  magisterial  offices  were  limited  to  the  first  three  classes.  Solon  thus, 


561A.C.]  INTRODUCTION.  31 

by  the  universal  suffrage  in  the  popular  assemblies,  restrained  the  excessive 
power  of  the  aristocracy,  and,  at  the  same  time,  by  confining  the  offices  of 
state  to  the  highest  orders,  prevented  the  introduction  of  a  pure  democracy. 

The  archonship  Solon  left  as  he  found  it ;  but  introduced  a  clause  into 
the  condition  of  the  election  of  these  magistrates,  prohibiting  them  from 
holding  military  command  during  the  year  of  office.  After  the  archons 
followed  a  council  of  four  hundred,  chosen  from  the  first  three  classes, 
and  possessing  senatorial  authority.  The  members  of  this  council  were 
selected  by  lot ;  but  they  were  obliged  to  undergo  the  strictest  scrutiny 
into  their  past  lives  and  characters  before  they  were  permitted  to  assume 
their  official  functions.  The  archons  were  required  by  law  to  consult  the 
council  in  every  important  public  matter ;  and  no.  subject  could  be  dis- 
cussed, in  the  general  assembly  of  the  people,  which  had  not  previously 
received  the  sanction  of  the  four  hundred.  The  popular  assemblies  were 
composed  of  all  the  four  classes,  and  had  the  right  of  confirming  or  re- 
jecting new  laws,  of  electing  the  magistrates,  of  discussing  all  public 
affairs  referred  to  them  by  the  council,  and  of  judging  in  all  State  trials. 

But  notwithstanding  all  the  care  with  which  Solon  arranged  the  fore- 
going departments  of  the  government,  the  court  of  Areopagus  was  still 
to  be  the  chief  pillar  of  the  Athenian  constitution.  This  court  had 
hitherto  been  a  mere  engine  of  aristocratic  oppression ;  but  Solon  modi: 
dified  its  constitution,  and  enlarged  its  powers.  It  "was  now  to  be  exclu- 
sively composed  of  persons  who  had  held  the  office  of  archon,  and  was 
made  the  supreme  tribunal  in  all  capital  cases.  It  was  likewise  intrusted 
with  the  superintendence  of  morals,  with  the  censorship  upon  the  conduct 
of  the  archons  at  the  expiration  of  their  office  ;  and  it  had  also  the  privi- 
lege of  amending  or  rescinding  the  measures  that  had  passed  the  general 
assemblies  of  the  people. 

Having  thus  completed  his  constitutional  arrangements,  and  placed 
the  magistrates  in  their  respective  positions,  Solon  left  Athens,  in  order 
to  test  the  stability  of  his  institutions,  when  left  to  rest  upon  their  own 
intrinsic  virtue.  For  some  time  the  most  sanguine  expectations  of  those 
who  had  intrusted  him  with  the  power  of  remodelling  the  government, 
seemed  to  be  entirely  realized ;  but,  unfortunately,  after  Athens  had  en- 
joyed a  few  years  of  tranquillity,  the  restless  and  ambitious  spirit  of 
Pisistratus  led  him  to  subvert  the  laws  of  Solon,  and  usurp  supreme 
power.  Like  Solon  he  was  descended  from  the  ancient  kings  of  Athens, 
and,  to  add  to  his  influence,  had  an  enormous  fortune,  which  he  distributed 
amongst  the  poorer  citizens  with  lavish  munificence.  His  generosity,  his 
eloquence,  and  his  courteous  manners,  soon  won  for  hrm  universal  favor ; 
and  taking  advantage  of  his  position,  he  persuaded  the  lower  ranks  of  his 
countrymen  that  his  popularity  had  rendered  him  odious  to  the  nobility, 
and  that  the  protection  of  a  body-guard  was  necessary  for  the  safety  of 
his  life.  Scarcely  had  this  protection  been  granted  than  he  seized  on 
the  Acropolis,  and  made  himself  absolute  master  of  the  State. 


32  INTRODUCTION.  [LECT.  I 

The  usurpation  of  Pisistratus  took  place  561  A.C. ;  and  though  it 
must  be  confessed  that  he  acquired  his  power  by  wicked  and  illegal 
means,  yet  he  exercised  it  with  mildness  and  equity.  During  his  whole 
administration  of  the  government,  he  constantly  exerted  himself  to  ex- 
tend the  glory  of  Athens,  and  secure  the  prosperity  and  happiness  of  the 
people;  and  at  his  death,  in  528  A.C.,  his  sons  Hipparchus  and  Hippias 
succeeded,  without  opposition,  to  his  power.  After  reigning  conjointly 
for  fourteen  years,  Hipparchus  was  murdered  by  two  young  Athenians, 
Harmodius  and  Aristogeiton,  whose  resentment  he  had  provoked  by  an 
atrocious  insult.  The  death  of  his  brother  aroused  the  bitterest  resent- 
ment of  Hippias  ;  and  the  cruelty  with  which  he  punished  all  whom  he 
suspected  of  having  had  a  share  in  his  brother's  death,  alienated  the  af- 
fections of  the  people,  and  encouraged  a  strong  party  opposed  to  him,  to 
make  an  effort  for  his  expulsion.  With  this  view  they  bribed  the  Del- 
phian priesthood,  and  obtained  a  response  from  the  oracle,  commanding 
the  Spartans  to  expel  the  Pisistratidao  from  Athens.  This  expulsion 
occurred  in  510  A.C. ;  and  Hippias  thenceforward  lived  in  exile  at  the 
court  of  the  King  of  Persia,  and  finally  met,  on  the  plains  of  Marathon, 
a  more  glorious  death  than  his  inglorious  life  deserved. 

With  the.  expulsion  of  Hippias,  and  the  abolition  of  tyranny  in  Athens, 
the  second  period  of  Grecian  history  ends ;  and  here  it  may  be  proper 
briefly  to  survey  the  aspect  which  the  entire  country  now  presents.  Long 
previous  to  this  period,  however,  we  find  the  whole  nation  divided  be- 
tween two  races— the  lonians  and  the  Dorians ;  and  these  were  distin- 
guished from  each  other  by  some  striking  characteristics  which  were 
never  entirely  obliterated.  The  lonians  were  remarkable  for  their  de- 
mocratic spirit,  and  consequent  hostility  to  hereditary  privileges.  They 
were  vivacious,  prone  to  excitemejit,  easily  induced  to  make  important 
changes  in  their  institutions,  and  proud  of  their  country  and  themselves. 
Without  being  destitute  of  martial  vigor,  their  love  of  refined  enjoyments 
made  them  early  and  diligent  cultivators  of  the  fine  arts,  and  all  those 
intellectual  pursuits  for  which  they  afterwards  became  preeminent. 

The  Dorians,  on  the  contrary,  were  remarkable  for  the  severe  simpli- 
city of  their  manners,  and  their  strict  adherence  to  ancienj,  usages.  They 
preferred  an  aristocratic  form  of  government,  and  required  age  as  a 
qualification  for  magistracy,  because  the  old  are  usually  opposed  to  inno- 
vation. They  were  ambitious  of  supremacy,  and  the  chief  object  of  their 
institutions  was  to  maintain  the  warlike  and  almost  savage  spirit  of  the 
nation.  Slavery,  in  its  worst  form,  prevailed  in  every  Dorian  State  ;  and 
the  condition  of  slaves  was  altogether  hopeless,  for  it  was  the  policy  of 
Dorian  legislation  to  fix  every  man  in  his  hereditary  condition.  The  dif- 
ference, in  fact,  between  the  lonians  and  the  Dorians,  is  the  chief  charac- 
teristic of  Grecian  politics :  it  runs  through  their  entire  history,  and  was 
the  principal  cause  of  the  deep-rooted  hatred  between  Athens  and  Sparta. 


.628A.C.]  INTRODUCTION.  33 

In  addition  to  the  contrast  between  the  lonians  and  the  Dorians, 
another  marked  feature  in  the  political  aspect  of  Greece  was,  that  it  con- 
tained as  many  free  States  as  cities.  Attica,  Megaris,  and  Laconia, 
were  civic  rather  than  territorial  States ;  but  there  were  few  of  the  other 
divisions  of  the  country  that  were  united  under  a  single  government. 
The  cities  of  Achaia,  Arcadia,  and  Bceotia,  were  independent  of  each 
other,  though  the  Achaian  cities  were  united  by  a  federative  league ; 
and  Thebes  generally  exercised  a  precarious  dominion  over  the  other 
cities  of  Boeotia.  Where  a  supremacy  actually  did  exist,  as  eventually 
in  the  case  of  Athens  and  Sparta,  it  included  the  right  of  determining 
the  foreign  relations  of  the  inferior  States,  and  binding  them  to  all  wars 
in  which  the  capital  engaged,  and  all  treaties  of  peace  which  it  concluded ; 
but  it  did  not  allow  of  any  interference  in  the  internal  administration  of 
each  government. 

Various  and  conflicting,  however,  as  were  the  policies  and  interests  of 
the  Grecian  States,  yet  many  circumstances  still  contributed  to  unite  the 
whole  Hellenic  race  by  a  common  bond  of  nationality.  Of  these,  the 
chief  was  a  unity  of  religion — connected  with  which  were  the  national 
festivals  and  games,  in  which  the  entire  Hellenic  race,  but  no  others, 
were  allowed  to  take  a  part.  The  Greeks  evidently  derived  the  elements 
of  their  religion  from  Asia  and  Egypt ;  but  they  soon  made  it  so  pecu- 
liarly their  own,  that  it  retained  no  features  of  its  original  source.  All 
Asiatic  deities  symbolized  some  natural  object,  such  as  the  sun,  the  earth, 
or  an  important  river ;  or  some  power  of  nature,  such  as  the  creating, 
the  preserving,  and  the  destroying  power.  The  gods  of  Greece,  on  the 
contrary,  were  human  personages,  possessing  the  forms  and  attributes  of 
men,  though  in  a  highly-exalted  degree.  The  paganism  of  Asia  was 
consequently  a  religion  of  fear,  and  had  a  fixed  priesthood ;  while  that 
of  the  Greeks  was  a  religion  of  love,  and  the  priesthood  was  equally 
open  to  all.  The  latter  regarded  their  gods  as  a  kind  of  personal  friends, 
and  hence  their  worship  was  cheerful,  and  even  joyous.  That  the  reli- 
gion of  the  Greeks  received  its  peculiar  form  from  the  beautiful  fictions 
of  the  poets,  especially  from  those  of  Homer  and  Hesiod,  there  can  be  no 
doubt ;  for  in  all  its  features  it  is  essentially  poetical.  The  effect  of 
this  system  was  to  beautify  and  perfect  the  fine  arts,  and  to  facilitate  the 
progress  of  knowledge,  by  separating  religion  from  philosophy. 

The  oracles  of  Dodona  and  Delphi,  the  temples  of  Olympia  and  Delos 
were  national,  and  belonged  to  the  whole  Hellenic  race.  The  responses 
of  the  oracles  were  more  reverenced  by  the  Dorians  than  by  the  lonians ; 
for  the  latter  early  emancipated  themselves  from  the  trammels  of  super- 
stition. The  worship  in  all  was  voluntary,  and  the  large  gifts  emulously 
Bent  to  them  were  the  spontaneous  offering  of  patriotic  affection.  Delphi 
was  under  the  government  of  the  Amphityonic  council ;  but  that  council, 
eo  far  from  limiting  its  attention  to  the  affairs  of  the  temple  alone,  ac- 
quired, through  its  influence  with  the  oracle,  no  small  share  in  the  affairs 

3 


34  INTRODUCTION.  [LECT.  I. 

of  different  States,  and  generally  superintended  the  administration  of  their 
national  laws,  even  at  times  when  the  States  represented  in  it  were  at  war 
with  each  other,  or  with  a  distant  foe.  * 

The  four  great  public  games  of  Greece — the  Olympian,  the  Pythian, 
the  Nemean,  and  the  Isthmian — were  another  strong  bond  of  union.  At 
these  games,  though  strangers  and  foreigners  were  welcomed  as  specta- 
tors, none  but  the  Hellenic  race  could  contend  for  the  prize.  This  right 
belonged,  however,  to  the  colonies  as  well  as  to  the  parent  Sta'tes ;  and, 
as  it  was  deemed  a  privilege  of  the  highest  value  and  the  greatest  im- 
portance, it  preserved  the  unity  even  of  the  most  distant  branches  of  the 
great  Hellenic  race. 

At  the  period  to  which  our  remarks  have  now  brought  us  down,  Greece 
was  fully  prepared  for  those  wonderful  developments  both  in  arts  and  in 
arms,  which  the  sequel  of  her  history  exhibits.  The  poetical  nature  of 
her  religion,  and  the  free  constitution  of  her  States,  not  only  rendered  her 
peculiarly  favorable  to  the  progress  of  literature,  philosophy,  and  the  fine 
arts,  but  gave  these,  in  turn,  a  decided  influence  on  the  government. 
The  poetry  of  Homer  had  been  rendered  familiar  to  the  Spartans  by 
Lycurgus,  and  to  the  Athenians  by  Pisistratus — the  lyric  and  tragic 
poets  began  to  produce  their  pieces  in  honor  of  the  gods — the  comic 
poets  at  Athens  now  commenced  the  discussion  of  public  affairs  on  the 
stage  with  a  freedom  which,  unfortunately,  soon  degenerated  into  licen- 
tiousness— and  the  influence  of  the  Athenian  orators  rendered  them  the 
leaders  of  the  State.  The  seeds  of  dissolution  were,  however,  thickly 
sown  in  the  whole  social  system  of  the  Greeks ;  for  the  natural  rivalry 
between  the  Dorian  and  Ionian  races,  was  only  briefly  suspended,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  threatening  aspect  which  the  vast  power  of  the  Persian 
empire  now  assumed  towards  all  Greece. 

Darius  Hystaspes,  soon  after  he  became  firmly  seated  on  the  Persian 
throne,  resolved  to  retaliate  upon  the  Scythians,  for  an  irruption  which 
that  rude  people  had  made  into  the  Persian  dominions  during  the  reign 
of  his  predecessor.  With  this  view  he  advanced  with  a  vast  army  to  the 
banks  of  the  Danube;  and  having  thrown  a  bridge  of  boats  over  that  river 
to  facilitate  the  passage  of  his  troops,  he  left  the  Ionian  Greeks,  and  his 
tributaries  from  Thrace,  to  guard  it  during  his  absence.  Miltiades, 
tyrant  of  the  Thracian  Chersonese,  united  with  other  Grecian  leaders  in 
the  army,  in  a  plan  to  destroy  the  bridge,  and  leave  the  Persian  monarch 
to  perish  in  the  Scythian  deserts.  The  design  was,  however,  frustrated 
by  the  opposition  of  Histiaeus,  tyrant  of  Miletus ;  and  Miltiades,  in  dis- 
gust, retired  to  Athens,  his  native  city,  where  he  subsequently  rose  to  the 
highest  honors^  while  Histiaeus  accompanied  the  monarch  he  had  saved, 
to  the  court  of  Persia.  Histiseus  soon  discovered,  however,  that  the  very 
magnitude  of  his  services  exposed  him  to  the  most  imminent  danger ; 


493A.C.]  INTRODUCTION.  35 

and  he  therefore  concerted,  with  his  lieutenant  Aristagor.as,  a  plan  for 
the  revolt  of  all  the  Ionian  colonies. 

To  secure  the  success  of  this  attempt  to  free  themselves  from  the 
Persian  yoke,  Aristagoras  sought  the  aid  of  the  Grecian  States  ;  and  with 
this  view  he  applied  first  to  the  Spartans,  and  afterwards  to  the 
Athenians.  At  Sparta  he  was  coldly  received ;  but  the  Athenians,  hav- 
ing so  recently  expelled  their  own  tyrant,  at  once  favored  the  design,  and 
accordingly  fitted  out  twenty  ships,  which  were  afterwards  joined  by  five 
from  the  small  State  of  Eretria,  for  his  assistance.  The  combined  forces 
were,  at  first,  entirely  successful,  having  soon  taken  and  plundered 
Sardis,  the  rich  capital  of  Lydia ;  but  Aristagoras  did  not  possess  the 
talents  of  a  general,  and  he  could  not,  therefore,  keep  the  several  divisions 
of  his  army  together.  The  European  Greeks  accordingly  returned  home, 
and  left  their  Asiatic  countrymen  exposed  to  the  full  vengeance  of  their 
merciless  masters.  Miletus  was  taken,  its  walls  razed  to  the  ground,  and 
its  citizens  either  massacred  or  reduced  to  slavery ;  and  many  of  the 
smaller  States  suffered  a  similar  fate.  Aristagoras  fled  into  ThracS, 
where  he  was  murdered  by  the  barbarians ;  and  Histiaeus,  after  having 
been  detained  for  a  short  time  as  a  prisoner  at  Sardis,  was  publicly  cru- 
cified, by  order  of  the  Persian  satrap. 

Incensed  at  the  temerity,  as  he  regarded  it,  of  the  Athenians  and 
Eretrians,  Darius  now  resolved,  as  a  proper  retaliation,  to  subdue  all 
Greece ;  and  preparatory  to  his  invasion  of  that  country,  he  sent  ambas- 
sadors thither  to  demand,  from  the  several  States,  the  usual  expression  of 
homage — requiring  also  the  Athenians  to  restore  Hippias  their  exiled 
tyrant.  Alarmed  at  the  Persian  power,  all  the  States,  except  Athens 
and  Sparta,  at  once  proffered  submission ;  but  those  noble  republics  sent 
back  a  haughty  defiance,  and  fearlessly  prepared  to  encounter  the  whole 
strength  of  the  Persian  empire. 

Darius,  in  493  A.C.,  and  seven  years  after  the  Ionian  revolt,  having 
prepared  a  vast  armament,  intrusted  its  command  to  his  son-in-law  Mar- 
donius,  who  soon  subdued  the  island  Thasus,  and  the  kingdom  of  Mace- 
donia ;  but  his  fleet,  while  doubling  Mount  Athos,  was  shattered  by  a 
violent  storm,  during  which  three  hundred  vessels  were  dashed  to  pieces 
against  the  rocks,  and  twenty  thousand  men  perished  in  the  waves.  Un- 
dismayed by  the  disastrous  termination  of  this  first  expedition,  Darius 
prepared,  in  490  A.C.,  a  second  and  more  powerful  armament,  over  which 
he  placed  his  two  best  generals,  Datis  and  Artiphernes.  The  fleet 
arrived  safely  at  the  island  of  Euboea,  and  the  army,  consisting  of  over 
five  hundred  thousand  men,  and  conducted  by  the  exiled  Hippias,  passed 
thence  to  the  plains  of  Marathon,  within  forty  miles  of  Athens,  and  there 
encamped. 

The  Athenians,  in  this  emergency,  armed  to  a  man ;  but  their  whole 
force  consisted  of  only  ten  thousand  citizens,  and  twenty  thousand  slaves 


36  INTRODUCTION.  [Lzox.  I 

— this  unusual  extremity  requiring,  for  the  first  time,  the  military  ser- 
vices of  the  latter.  The  little  city  of  Plataea  sent  an  auxiliary  force  of 
one  thousand  men ;  but  the  Spartans,  yielding  either  to  superstition  or  to 
jealousy,  refused  to  march  before  the  full  of  the  moon.  Miltiades,  who 
was  now  the  principal  commander  of  the  Athenian  forces  at  once  led  his 
little  army  to  Marathon,  and  formed  his  lines  at  the  foot  of  a  hill  which 
protected  his  rear  and  flank;  while  his  left  was  secured  by  an  extensive 
marsh,  and  his  front,  by  trunks  of  trees,  strewn  for  some  distance,  to 
break  the  force  of  the  Persian  cavalry.  The  Athenian  citizens  occupied 
the  right,  the  Platseans  the  left,  while  the  raw  levies  of  slaves  were  sta- 
tioned in  the  centre.  The  Persian  generals  saw  the  advantages  of  thi? 
position ;  but  confident  in  their  superior  numbers,  they,  notwithstanding 
gave  the  signal  for  battle.  The  Greek  centre,  as  Miltiades  had  antici- 
pated, gave  way  as  soon  as  it  was  pressed  by  the  Persians ;  but  as  the 
two  wings  of  the  army  had  repulsed  their  opponents,  they  wheeled  round, 
attacked  the  enemy  in  their  flanks,  and  soon  rendered  their  victory  com- 
plete. The  Persians,  in  confusion,  rushed  to  their  ships,  and  soon  after 
took  advantage  of  a  favoring  gale,  and  returned  to  Asia. 

The  gratitude  of  the  Athenians  towards  Miltiades,  for  this  signal  vic- 
tory, was  unbounded.  They  erected  numerous  statues  to  his  memory, 
and  caused  a  magnificent  picture  to  be  painted,  representing  him  at  the 
head  of  his  army,  rushing  into  the  midst  of  the  conflict.  But  the  volitile 
Athenians  soon  forgot  their  debt  of  gratitude  to  him  for  his  eminent  ser- 
vices. Being  unsuccessful  in  a  subsequent  expedition  to  relieve  some  of  * 
their  distant  allies,  he  was  accused  of  having  received  a  bribe,  convicted 
upon  doubtful  evidence,  and  sentenced  to  pay  a  heavy  fine.  As  presump- 
tive evidence  of  his  innocence,  the  fine  was  entirely  beyond  his  ability ; 
and  he  was  therefore  thrown  into  prison,  where  he  soon  after  died  of  his 
wounds. 

Fortunately,  notwithstanding  her  ingratitude  to  Miltiades,  Athens  still 
possessed  two  other  citizens  who  had  shared  with  him  the  glories  of 
Marathon,  and  who  were  fully  competent  to  wield  the  power  which  he 
had  previously  possessed.  ^  Those  citizens  were  Themistocles,  the  most 
able  statesman,  and  Aristides,  the  most  virtuous  patriot  of  Greece.  The 
rivalry  between  them  was,  however,  intense  ;  and  in  the  course  of  their 
struggle  for  power,  Aristides  was  condemned  by  ostracism  to  banishment. 
Themistocles  himself,  however,  soon  perceived  that  he  needed  his  wise 
counsels ;  and  he,  therefore,  on  the  first  emergency,  successfully  moved 
that  he  should  be  recalled.  From  this  time  their  active  rivalry  ceased  , 
and  Themistocles,  now  supreme  in  authority,  thenceforth  directed  all  his 
efforts  towards  improving  the  Athenian  naval  power ;  and  he  finally 
succeeded  in  securing  for  his  country  the  complete  supremacy  of  the 
Grecian  seas. 

The  death  of  Darius,  which  soon  followed  the  overthrow  of  the  Persian 


500A.C.]  INTRODUCTION".  37 

army  at  Marathon,  protracted,  but  did  not  end  the  war.  Xerxes,  his 
son  and  successor,  renewed  hostilities  with  a  fixed  resolution  of  over- 
whelming the  whole  of  Greece.  With  this  view  he  collected  an  army, 
which,  after  making  every  allowance  for  the  exaggerations  of  ancient  his- 
torians, was  doubtless  the  most  numerous  ever  assembled.  From  Susa  he 
marched  to  the  Hellespont;  and  having  crossed  the  strait  upon  a  bridge 
of  boats,  he  poured  down  through  Thessaly  to  the  pass  of  Thermopylae, 
where  he  was  surprised  to  find  Leouidas,  one  of  the  kings  of  Sparta,  with  a 
small  army  of  eight  thousand  men,  prepared  to  defend  the  passage.  The 
haughty  Persian  immediately  sent  a  herald,  commanding  Leonidas  and 
his  companions  to  surrender  up  their  arms ;  and  was  maddened  to  frenzy 
by  their  contumelious  reply,  '  Come  and  take  them.'  After  many  ineffec- 
tual attempts  to  break  the  Grecian  lines,  all  of  which  were  repulsed  with 
great  slaughter,  Xerxes  was  about  to  retire  in  despair ;  when  the  treachery 
of  Ephialtes,  a  Trachinian  deserter,  revealed  to  him  a  secret  path  that 
led  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  and  by  which  a  detachment  of  his  army 
could  reach  the  Grecian  flank.  Leonidas,  perceiving  that  open  resistance 
would  now  be  fruitless,  advised  his  allies  to  retire  to  their  homes ;  but, 
as  he  and  his  Spartan  associates  were  forbidden  by  law  to  abandon  their 
posts,  they  resolved  to  remain  and  show  the  enemy  the  spirit,  at  least,  of 
the  foe  with  whom  they  had  to  contend.  Planting  themselves  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  pass,  to  receive  the  multitudes  by  whom  they  were  sur- 
rounded, they  fought  with  the  energies  of  despair,  until  they  sunk, 
exhausted  rather  than  vanquished.  About  the  same  time  the  Greeks 
obtained  a  signal  victory  over  the  Persian  fleet  near  Artimisium ;  but 
this  triumph  was  rendered  fruitless  by  the  loss  of  the  pass  of  Thermopylae. 
Themistocles,  after  the  naval  engagement  near  Artimisium,  persuaded 
the  allies  to  concentrate  their  combined  fleet,  consisting  of  three  hundred 
and  eighty  sail,  in  the  Saronic  gulf,  near  the  island  of  Salamis ;  and 
Xerxes,  having  passed  Thermopylae,  entered  Phocis,  and  sent  a  detach- 
ment of  his  army  to  plunder  and  destroy  the  temple  of  Delphi.  These 
were  met  by  the  enraged  Phocians,  who  attacked  them  with  such  deter- 
mined energy  that  only  a  miserable  remnant  of  them  escaped  to  the  Per- 
sian camp.  The  rnam  body  of  Xerxes'  army  was,  however,  more  success- 
ful. Having  taken  and  destroyed  the  cities  of  Thespiae  and  Platsea, 
they  advanced  without  farther  resistance  upon  Athens ;  and  the  Athen- 
ians, conscious  of  not  being  able  to  resist  the  vast  numbers  of  the  enemy, 
abandoned  their  beloved  city — those  who  were  capable  of  bearing  arms 
retiring  to  the  island  of  Salamis,  and  those  whom  age  or  sex  rendered 
unfit  for- war,  to -the  hospitable  city  of  Trcezene.  Athens  was  entirely 
demolished ;  and  Xerxes  now,  in  the  pride  of  success,  resolved  to  anni- 
hilate the  last  hopes  of  the  Greeks  in  a  naval  engagement.  With  this 
view  he  directed  his  whole  fleet,  consisting  of  twelve  hundred  sail,  to 
enter  the  Saronic  gulf,  and  blockade  the  Grecian  fleet,  as  it  lay  at  anchor 
in  the  harbor  of  Salamis.  This  was  precisely  what  Themistocles  had 


38  INTRODUCTION.  [LECT.  I 

anticipated ;  and  in  the  engagement  that  immediately  followed,  Xerxes 
had  the  mortification  to  see,  from  the  rocky  eminence  -of  j3Sgaleas,  his 
magnificent  navy  utterly  annihilated. 

With  the  battle  of  Salamis,  Xerxes'  personal  schemes  with  regard  to 
the  conquest  of  Greece  terminated,  and  he  therefore  returned  at  once  to 
Asia  ;  but  that  he  might  not  seem  to  relinquish  the  design  of  subduing 
the  country,  he  left  Mardonius,  with  an  army  of  three  hundred  thousand 
men,  to  prosecute  the  war.  These  were  met  in  the  following  year  by  the 
combined  army  of  Greece,  under  the  command  of  Aristides  of  Athens, 
and  Pausanias  of  Sparta ;  and  a  battle  ensued,  near  the  city  of  Plataea, 
which  ended  in  the  total  defeat  of  the  Persians,  leaving  but  forty  thou- 
sand of  them  to  escape  from  the  field  of  carnage,  under  Artabazus,  by  the 
way  of  the  Hellespont,  into  tjieir  own  country.  On  the  same  day  an- 
other equally  important  victory  was  gained  by  the  confederate  fleet, 
commanded  by  Xanthippus,  the  father  of  Pericles,  and  Leotychides,  one 
of  the  kings  of  Sparta,  at  Mycale,  on  the  coast  of  Asia  Minor. 

The  vast  treasures  which  the  Greeks  obtained  from  the  Persian  camps, 
as  the  fruits  of  these  two  last  victories,  required  the  selection  of  some 
individual  into  whose  custody  they  might  be  placed ;  and  the  pure  and 
exalted  character  of  Aristides,  for  which  he  had  already  obtained  the 
title  of  '  The  Just,'  at  once  turned  the  eyes  of  all  Greece  upon  him  for 
this  important  trust.  In  this  honorable  position  he  passed  the  few  re: 
maining  years  of  his  life  ;  and  such  was  the  integrity  with  which  he  dis- 
charged the  duties  of  public  treasurer  of  the  Grecian  confederacy,  that  at 
his  death  he  did  not  leave  the  means  of  defraying  his  own  funeral 
expenses. 

Immediately  after  the  battle  of  Plataea,  the  Athenians  returned  to 
the  city,  and  Themistocles,  at  the  head  of  the  government,  rebuilt  its 
defences,  fortified  the  harbor  of  the  Piraeus,  and  joined  it  to  Athens  by 
what  were  called  '  the  long  walls.'  The  glorious  career  of  this  great 
leader  was,  however,  soon  after  unhappily  terminated.  Pausanias,  the 
Spartan  commander  at  the  battle  of  Plataea,  being  dazzled  with  his  re- 
cent success,  and  ambitious  of  reigning  over  all  Greece,  opened  a  corre- 
spondence with  Xerxes,  and  proposed  to  that  monarck  to  make  him  master 
of  Greece,  on  condition  that  he  would  place  him  as  his  satrap  over  the 
country,  and  give  him  his  daughter  in  marriage.  The  terms  were 
accepted  by  the  Persian  king ;  but  before  the  plan  could  be  matured, 
the  plot  was  discovered ;  immediately  after  which,  Pausanias  was 
brought  to  trial,  condemned,  and  shut  up  in  the  temple  of  Minerva, 
where  he  was  allowed  to  starve  to  death.  Irritated  at  this  disgraceful 
conduct  in  one  of  their  principal  leaders,  and  jealous  of  the  increasing 
glory  of  the  Athenians,  the  Spartans  basely  charged  Themistocles, 
though  without  a  shadow  of  evidence,  with  being  one  of  Pausanias' 
accomplices.  Themistocles  was,  accordingly,  tried  by  ostracism,  con- 
victed, and  sentenced  to  ten  years'  banishment.  '  After  wandering  for 


468A.C.]  INTRODUCTION".  39 

some  time  through  the  northern  states  of  Greece,  he  finally  took  refuge 
at  the  court  of  Persia,  where  he  was  hospitably  entertained  for  a  number 
of  years ;  but  at  length,  wearied  with  his  absence  from  his  beloved 
Athens,  he  terminated  his  life  by  poison. 

The  death  of  Aristides,  in  468  A.C.,  and  the  banishment  of  Themis- 
tocles,  a  little  before,  left  Cinion,  the  son  of  Miltiades,  the  chief  command 
of  the  combined  naval  force  of  Greece ;  and  pursuing  the  Persian  fleet, 
which  still  lingered  in  the  Eastern  seas,  he  came  up  with  it  off  the  coast 
of  Cyprus,  and  there  gained  as  signal  a  victory  as  that  of  Salainis.  The 
Persian  army  was,  meantime,  encamped  on  the  Asiatic  coast,  near  the 
mouth  of  the  river  Eurymedon,  and  thither  Cimon  at  once  hastened,  hav- 
ing dressed  lus  men  in  the  vestures  and  arms  of  his  prisoners.  The 
attack  was  so  sudden  and  unexpected,  that  the  enemy  were  thrown  into 
the  utmost  confusion,  and  before  they  could  recover  themselves,  their 
destruction  was  cpmpleted.  These  two  victories  induced  the  Persians  to 
sue  for  peace ;  and.  in  the  treaty  which  followed,  it  was  stipulated  that 
the  independence  of  the  Greek  cities  of  Lower  Asia  should  be  restored — 
that  no  Persian  vessel  should  appear  between  the  northern  extremity  of 
the  Thracian  Bosphorus,  and  the  southern  promontory  of  Lysia — that  no 
Persian  army  should  come  within  three  days'  journey  of  the  sea-coast ; 
and  that  the  Athenians  should  withdraw  their  fleets  and  armies  from  the 
island  of  Cyprus.  This  treaty  was  made  449  A.C.,  and  thus  gloriously 
were  terminated  the  Persian  wars,  which,  from  the  burning  of  Sardis, 
had  lasted,  with  little  intermission,  fifty -one  years. 

Chnon  died  immediately  after  the  battle  of  Eurymedon,  and  left  Peri- 
cles, who  had  long  been  associated  with  him  in  power,  without  a  rival  in 
the  State.  A  disastrous  earthquake,  in  which  one  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  citizens  perished,  and  which  overwhelmed  Sparta  itself,  occurred 
about  the  same  time  hi  Laconia ;  and  by  this  means  Athens  became  the 
supreme  power  in  Greece.  The  city  itself,  under  the  splendid  adminis- 
tration of  Pericles,  rose  to  unparalleled  magnificence ;  but  as  the  ambi- 
tion of  that  great  leader  knew  no  bounds,  the  smaller  States  were  taught 
to  feel  their  dependence,  and  even  to  groan  under  the  weight  of  the  op- 
pressive yoke  which  they  were  compelled  to  bear.  The  necessity  of 
union  between  the  leading  States  of  Greece,  having  also  been  removed  by 
the  close  of  the  Persian  war,  the  old  animosities  between  the  Dorian  and 
the  Ionian  races  were  once  more  revived,  and  only  waited  for  a  suitable 
occasion  to  break  forth  into  open  hostility.  A  quarrel  between  the  Co- 
rinthians and  the  Corcyrians  at  length  afforded  such  an  occasion ;  and 
hence,  in  431  A.C.,  commenced  the  Peloponnesian  war.  Sparta  had,  by 
this  time,  recovered,  in  a  great  measure,  her  former  strength,  and  become 
the  leader  of  the  Dorian  States,  whilst  Athens  commanded  the  sea,  and 
embraced  in  her  alliance  all  the  -ZEgean  islands.  The  contest  lasted, 


40  INTRODUCTION.  [LEOT.  1 

with  only  occasional  intervals,  for  twenty-seven  years,  and  finally  ended 
in  the  total  prostration  of  the  Athenian  power,  at  the  fatal  battle  of 
JEgos-potamos,  406  A.C.,  and  the  occupation  of  Athens  by  a  Spartan  gar- 
rison two  years  afterwards. 

Sparta,  in  her  turn,  now  became  the  ruling  power  in  Greece,  and  her 
first  act  of  oppression,  after  demolishing  the  walls  of  the  city,  was  to  place 
over  Athens  her  former  rival,  the  government  of '  the  thirty  tyrants.'  The 
severity  and  injustice  of  their  administration  soon,  however,  brought 
about  their  own  overthrow;  for  Thrasybulus,  a  worthy  patriot,  joined  by 
a  small  band  of  resolute  associates,  in  403  A.C.,  expelled  the  tyrants,  and 
restored  the  liberty  of  his  country.  But  the  Athenians  were  not  prepared 
to  profit  by  the  advantages  thus  obtained ;  for  though  Conon  soon  after 
regained  for  his  country  the  ascendancy  at  sea,  and  rebuilt  the  long  walls 
of  Athens,  the  spirit  of  Miltiades  and  Themistocles,  of  Aristides  and 
Cimon,  and  even  of  Pericles,  had  passed  away ;  and  Athenian  degeneracy 
was  soon  after  confirmed  in  the  mock  trial  and  judicial  murder  of 
Socrates,  the  most  worthy  of  their  citizens,  and  the  prince  of  their 
philosophers. 

In  383  A.C.,  just  twenty  years  after  the  expulsion  of  the  tyrants  from 
Athens,  a  Spartan  army,  under  the  command  of  Phoebidas,  one  of  their 
generals,  seized  the  citadel  of  Thebes,  during  a  profound  peace,  and 
placed  within  its  walls  a  Spartan  garrison,  under  whose  protection  an 
oligarchy  of  traitors  reduced  the  city  to  the  same  misery  that  Athens  had 
endured  under  '  the  thirty  tyrants.'  The  chief  of  Theban  patriots  fled 
from  the  city;  and  Pelopidas,  one  of  the  number,  stimulated  by  the 
recent  example  of  Thrasybulus,  concerted,  in  378  A.C.,  with  Epaminondas, 
who  remained  in  Thebes,  a  bold  plan  for  the  liberation  of  their  country. 
The  most  licentious  of  the  tyrants  were  invited  by  a  secret  partizan  of 
the  patriots  to  a  feast ;  and  while  they  were  heated  with  wine,  the  con- 
spirators entered  the  house  where  they  were  assembled  in  disguise,  and 
slew  them  in  the  midst  of  their  debauchery.  The  rest  of  the  traitors, 
alarmed  at  the  fate  of  their  associates,  either  fled  from  the  city,  or  per- 
ished in  a  similar  manner.  A  war  between  Thebes  and  Sparta  immedi- 
ately followed,  and  the  Thebans  entrusted  the  conduct  of  their  armies  to 
the  two  noble  patriots  who  had  delivered  them  from  Spartan  oppression. 
Pelopidas  first  took  the  command,  and  in  the  campaign  which  followed, 
he  won  two  splendid  victories  of  Agesilaus,  the  Spartan  king — the  one 
at  Tinagra,  and  the  other  at  Tegyra — though  in  the  latter  conflict  he  had 
to  encounter  a  vast  disparity  of  force. 

The  immediate  effect  of  these  two  victories  was  to  check  the  pride  and 
to  curb  the  arrogance  of  the  Spartans ;  and  hence,  during  the  four  or 
five  years  that  followed,  negociations  and  conventions  employed  the  prin- 
cipal portion  of  their  time.  But  in  the  spring  of  371  A.C.  both  armies 


368  A.C.]  INTRODUCTION.  41 

again  took  the  field — the  Spartans  under  the  command  of  Cleombrotus, 
and  the  Thebans  led  by  Epaminondas,  who,  according  to  Cicero,  was  the 
most  accomplished  general  that  Greece  ever  produced.  They  met  on  the 
memorable  field  of  Leuctra,  and  the  victory  of  the  Thebans  was  decisive, 
Cleombrotus  himself  being  left  among  the  slain.  The  consequences  of  this 
battle  were  more  important  than  the  victory  itself;  for  the  States  pre- 
viously under  the  yoke  of  Sparta  began  at  once  openly  to  aspire  at  inde- 
pendence. The  ascendancy  of  Thebes  was  now  universally  acknowledged 
throughout  Greece ;  but  no  other  memorable  action  occurred  until  362 
A.C.,  when  the  two  hostile  armies  once  more  met  near  the  wealthy  city  of 
Mantinaea.  Agesilaus  in  person  led  the  Spartans,  while  the  Thebans 
were  again  commanded  by  Epaminondas.  The  overthrow  of  the  Spartan 
army  was  complete ;  but  the  death  of  Epaminondas,  who  fell  in  the  early 
part  of  the  action,  deprived  the  Thebans  from  reaping  any  particular  ad- 
vantages from  their  victory,  and  a  general  peace  was  effected,  during  the 
following  year.  t 

After  the  battle  of  Tegyra,  Pelopidas,  in  368  A.C.,  was  sent  by  the 
Thebans  to  mediate  between  Ptolemy  of  Alorus,  and  Alexander  the 
Second,  King  of  Macedonia ;  and  in  order  to  insure  the  observance  of 
the  treaty  entered  into  between  those  monarchs,  he  took  Philip,  the 
youngest  son  of  Alexander,  to  Thebes  as  an  hostage.  Here  the  young 
Macedonian  prince,  then  in  the  fifteenth  year  of  his  age,  became  intimate 
with  Epaminondas,  and  from  that  great  commander  thoroughly  learned 
the  art  of  war.  The  general  peace  that  followed  the  battle  of  Mantinaea 
left  Philip  free  to  return  to  his  native  country ;  and  soon  after  his  arrival 
in  Macedonia  he  succeeded,  in  359  A.C.,  his  brother  Perdiccas,  to  the 
prejudice  of  his  nephew  Amyntas,  upon  the  throne.  The  first  few  years 
of  Philip's  reign  were  occupied  in  wars  with  the  Illyrians  and  other  na- 
tions that  surrounded  his  kingdom  ;  but  having  closed  these  wars,  he  was 
invited,  in  352  A.C.,  by  the  Thebans,  to  aid  them  against  the  Phocians. 

As  Philip  had  long  sought  a  pretext  for  interfering  in  the  affairs  of 
Greece,  he  obeyed  the  summons  of  the  Thebans  with  alacrity,  utterly 
routed  the  Phocians,  and  obtained  their  place  in  the  Amphictyonic  coun- 
cil. A  few  years  after  he  seized  the  pass  of  Thermopylae,  and  thus  secured 
to  his  armies  the  free  ingress  and  egress  of  the  countries  which  it  sepa- 
rated. The  Athenians,  urged  by  the  burning  eloquence  of  Demosthenes, 
now  took  the  alarm,  and  joined  by  the  Thebans,  determined  at  once  to 
dislodge  him.  The  fated  battle  of  Chaeronia,  in  which  the  Macedonians 
were  completely  triumphant,  soon  followed,  and  from  that  period  the  in- 
dependence of  the  Grecian  States  forever  ceased.  A  general  convention 
of  the  Amphictyonic  council  was  held  at  Corinth  in  337  A.C.,  at  which 
Philip  was  chosen  captain-general  of  confederate  Greece,  and  appointed 
to  lead  their  united  forces  against  the  Persian  empire.  He  was,  how- 
ever, in  the  following  year,  murdered  by  Pausanius,  a  young  Macedonian 


42  INTRODUCTION.  [LECT.  L 

nobleman,  in  revenge  of  a  private  insult,  while  celebrating  the  marriage 
of  his  daughter,  and  was  succeeded  by  his  son  Alexander. 

Alexander,  deservedly  surnamed  the  Great,  succeeded  to  the  throne  at 
the  early  age  of  twenty  ;  but  so  thoroughly  had  he  been  educated  by  the 
philosopher  Aristotle,  that  his  mind  was  in  full  maturity.  After  subdu- 
ing the  Illyrians,  the  Thracians,  and  other  barbarous  tribes  of  the  north, 
he  appeared  so  suddenly  in  Greece,  that  a  general  consternation  prevailed 
throughout  the  whole  country.  All  at  once  submitted,  and  the  different 
States  were  hurried  into  convention  on  the  Isthmus  of  Corinth,  and  the 
appointment  of  captain-general  previously  conferred  upon  his  father,  was 
at  once  bestowed  upon  him.  Impetuous  in  action  as  well  as  in  temper, 
he  delayed  not  a  moment  to  carry  into  effect  the  great  design  of  his 
father,  of  invading  and  subduing  the  Persian  empire.  With  this  view, 
leaving  the  government  of  Greece  and  Macedonia  to  Antipater,  one  of  his 
generals,  he  crossed  the  Hellespont  in  the  spring  of  334  A.C.,  and  at  the 
head  of  an  army  of  thirty  thousand  infantry  and  five  thousand  cavalry, 
he  commenced  a  career  of  conquest  which,  for  brilliancy  in  its  results,  has 
had  no  parallel  in  the  history  of  the  world.  He  met  Darius  successively 
on  the  banks  of  the  Granicus,  in  the  pass  of  Issus,  and  on  the  plains  of 
Arbela,  and  at  the  close  of  the  last  action  which  was  fought  331  A.C. 
the  whole  Persian  empire  lay  prostrate  at  the  conqueror's  feet.  In  the 
meantime  Alexander  had  destroyed  Tyre  and  subdued  Egypt ;  and  now 
he  prepared  to  march  into  India.  Equally  successful  in  his  eastern  cam- 
paign, he,  at  it^  close,  in  325  A.C.,  returned  to  Babylon,  intending  to 
make  that  city  the  seat  of  his  vast  empire.  But  all  his  schemes  were 
frustrated  by  his  premature  death,  which  occurred  on  the  28th  of  May, 
324  A.C.,  less  than  thirteen  years  after  he  commenced  his  wonderful 
career. 

For  twenty-three  years  after  Alexander's  death,  nothing  but  conten- 
tions and  conspiracies  prevailed  throughout  the  empire — each  of  his  gen- 
erals striving  for  the  ascendancy  over  the  rest.  At  length,  in  301  A.C., 
the  decisive  battle  of  Ipsus  was  fought,  and  as  the  result  of  that  action, 
the  dominions  of  Alexander  were  divided  between  Ptolemy  of  Egypt, 
Seleucus  of  Upper  Asia,  Lysimachus  of  Thrace,  and  Cassander  of 
Greece  and  Macedonia.  Greece  still  maintained  a  precarious  exist- 
ence for  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  years ;  but  by  the  battle  of  Pydna, 
which  was  fought  148  A.C.,  and  the  destruction  of  Corinth  two  years  after- 
wards, the  whole  country  was  reduced  to  the  form  of  a  Roman  province, 
under  the  name  of  Achaia. 

We  have  thus  rapidly  sketched  the  physical  and  mwal  character  of 
the  Greeks — their  intellectual  character  will  form  the  subject  of  the  fol- 
lowing lectures. 


Knlnnfyt 


HOMER. 

HAYING,  in  the  last  lecture,  closed  our  remarks  upon  the  history  of 
Greece,  we  now  proceed  to  the  consideration  of  Grecian  poetry. 

Th'e  origin  of  poetic  numbers  is  found  in  a  desire  to  reduce  specific 
ideas  to  a  definite  form;  hence  Minos  and  other  ancient  sages  composed 
their  laws  in  verse.  The  effusions  of  all  the  early  bards  of  Greece  were 
doubtless  of  the  same  nature.  In  the  heroic  ages,  the  deeds  of  real  per- 
sonages formed  the  burthen  of  the  poet's  song ;  and  for  this  reason  their 
names  became  sacred,  and  their  memories  were  immortalized.  Of  these 
bards,  such  as  Linus,  Orpheus,  and  Musseus,  little  else  is  known  than 
their  names ;  and  to  determine  the  time  at  which  they  flourished,  was  a 
matter  of  as  much  difficulty  two  thousand  years  ago  as  it  is  at  present. 
We  therefore  pass  over  these  earlier  poets,  and  proceed  at  once  to  notice 
Homer,  emphatically  the  father  of  Grecian  poetry. 

Of  this  remarkable  character  we  have  so  little  definite  knowledge,  that 
all  would  seem  a  matter  of  mere  conjecture,  were  it  not  that  Herodotus  has 
left  us,  in  his  great  historical  work,  something  that  approaches  to  a  regu- 
lar history  of  the  poet's  life. .  The  authenticity  of  this  narrative  has, 
however,  been  so  frequently  called  in  question,  that  it  would  be  an  act  of 
weak  credulity  to  depend  upon  it,  had  not  Strabo,  the  eminent  ancient 
Geographer,  not  only  regarded  it  as  an  authentic  biography,  but  even 
quoted  it  as  authority  in  his  own  works.  From  this  account  of  Homer 
we  collect  the  following  particulars : — 

Menalippus,  of  Magnesia,  in  Asia  Minor,  married  the  daughter  of 
Homyres,  of  Cumae,  a  neighboring  town.  From  this  marriage  sprung 
Critheus,  an  only  daughter,  who  had  the  misfortune  to  be  early  left  by 
her  parents  an  orphan.  The  little  property  that  her  father  had  possessed 
was  committed  to  the  care  of  a  magistrate  of  her  native  place,  who  was 
also  a  personal  friend,  and  who  assumed  towards  her  the  character  of 
a  guardian.  Neglecting,  as  is  often  the  case  with  guardians,  his  im- 
portant charge,  Critheus  imprudently  contracted  an  early  marriage  with 
a  youth  who  proved  entirely  unworthy  of  her  affections.  His  death,  how- 


44  HOMER.  [LECT.  IL 

ever,  which  occurred  a  few  months  after  their  marriage,  released  her  from 
the  unhappy  connection ;  and  having  been  for  some  time  previous  ne- 
glected by  her  family  and  friends,  she  resolved  to  leave  her  native  place 
and  settle  in  Smyrna,  an  Ionian  city,  then  recently  founded.  Dependent 
entirely  upon  her  own  exertions  for  the  means  of  subsistence,  Critheus 
turned  her  attention  to  the  spinning  of  wool,  a  respectable  and  an 
honorable  employment  for  females  in  her  situation.  She  had  not  resided 
long  in  Smyrna  before  she  gave  birth  to  a  son,  whom  she  named  Homer, 
in  honor  of  Homyres,  his  maternal  grandfather.  This  event  occurred  920 
A.C.  Having  now  an  additional  motive  to  exertion,  and  a  new  incentive 
to  propriety  of  conduct,  she  demeaned  herself  so  discreetly  as  to  elicit 
very  general  admiration ;  and  Phernias,  a  teacher  of  literature,  whose 
residence  was  near  her  own,  observing  her  daily  deportment,  and  being 
pleased  with  its  consistency,  invited  her  to  take  up  her  abode  in  his 
house,  and  employ  herself  in  spinning  the  wool  which  he  was  accustomed 
to  receive  from  his  scholars  as  compensation  for  their  instruction. 

Critheus  had  resided  but  a  short  time  in  the  house  of  Phernias  before 
the  same  discreet  conduct  which  she  had  hitherto  observed,  induced  him 
to  place  the  entire  management  of  his  household  affairs  into  her  hands  ; 
and  the  constant  intercourse  between  them,  which  necessarily  followed,  soon 
ripened  into  a  settled  affection,  and  their  marriage  was  the  immediate  con- 
sequence. Having  married  the  mother,  Phemias,  of  course,  adopted  the 
son ;  and  Homer,  as  soon  as  his  age  would  permit,  was  introduced  to  the 
school  of  his  step-father,  and  there  enjoyed  all  the  advantages  of  a  liberal 
education.  In  this  situation  he  remained  until  the  sixteenth  year  of  his 
age,  soon  after  which  he  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  both  his  parents,  and 
was  thus  left,  before  he  had  attained  his  eighteenth  year,  to  depend  upon 
his  own  resources  for  his  future  subsistence.  His  education  being  ample, 
and  his  talents  of  the  most  commanding  order,  he  had  already  drawn 
forth  the  approbation,  and  even  excited  the  admiration  of  all  Smyrna ; 
and  a  general  desire  was  therefore  expressed  that  he  would  assume  the 
charge  of  the  school,  and  continue  to  conduct  it  upon  its  former  prin- 
ciples. 

Previous  to  the  death  of  his  parents,  Homer  had  given  an  earnest,  by 
the  composition  of  some  minor  poems,  of  that  remarkable  poetic  genius 
which  afterwards  immortalized  his  name.  He  had  written,  among  others, 
a  hymn  to  Apollo,  which  has  descended  down  to  the  present  period.  This 
hymn  is  so  extraordinary  a  production  that  we  deem  it  necessary  to  intro- 
duce an  extract  from  it  in  this  early  part  of  our  narrative  of  the  author's 
life: 

HYMN  TO  APOLLO. 

Far-darting  Phoebus  of  the  flowing  hair 
Down  from  the  broad-track'd  mountain  passed,  and  all 
Those  goddesses  look'd  on  in  ravish'd  awe ; 


920A.C.]  HOMER.  45 

And  all  the  Delian  isle  was  heap'd  with  gold, 

So  gladden'd  by  his  presence,  the  fair  son 

Of  Jove  and  of  Latona.    For  he  chose 

That  island  as  his  home  o'er  every  isle 

Or  continent,  and  loved  it  in  his  soul. 

It  flourish'd  like  a  mountain,  when  its  top 

Is  hid  with  flowering  blossoms  of  a  wood. 
God  of  the  silver  bow,  far-darting  King! 

Thou,  too,  hast  trod  the  craggy  Cyuthus'  heights, 

And  sometimes  wander'd  to  the  distant  isles 

And  various  haunts  of  men;   and  many  fanes 

Are  thine,  and  groves  thick  set  with  gloomy  trees : 

Thine  all  the  caverns,  and  the  topmost  cliffs 

Of  lofty  mountains,  and  sea-rolling  streams. 

But  still,  oh  Phoebus  !   in  the  Delian  isle 

Thy  heart  delighteth  most.     Th'  lonians  there 

In  trailing  robes  before  thy  temple  throng, 

With  their  young  children  and  their  modest  wives; 

And  mindful  of  thy  honor  charm  thee  there 

With  cestus  combats,  and  with  bounding  dance, 

And  song,  in  stated  contest.     At  the  sight 

Of  that  Ionian  crowd  a  man  would  say 

That  all  were  blooming  with  immortal  youth 

So  looking  on  the  gallant  mien  of  all, 

And  ravishing  his  mind  while  he  beheld 

The  fair-formed  men,  the  women  with  broad 

Gracefully  girt,  their  rapid-sailing  ships, 
^^  And  pomp  of  all  their  opulence ;   and  more 
^P   Than  all,  that  mightier  miracle,  whose  praise 

Shall  still  imperishable  bloom,  the  maids 

Of  Delos,  priestesses  of  him  who  darts 

His  rays  around  the  world.     Apollo  first 

They  glorify  with  hyinnings,  and  exalt 

Latona's  and  the  quiver'd  Dian's  name. 

Then  in  their  songs  record  the  men  of  old, 

The  listening  tribes  of  mortals;  for  their  voice 

Can  imitate  the  modulated  sounds 

Of  various  human  tongues,  and  each  would  say 

Himself  were  speaking.     Such  their  aptitude 

Of  flexile  accents,  and  melodious  speech. 
Hail,  oh  Latona  !   Dian  !    Phoebus  !  hail ! 

And  hail,  ye  charming  damsels,  and  farewell ! 

Bear  me  hereafter  in  your  memories; 

And  should  some  stranger,  worn  with  hardships  touch 

Upon  your  island  and  inquire,  "  What  man, 

Oh  maidens !   lives  among  you  as  the  bard 

Of  sweetest  song,  and  most  enchants  your  ear  ?" 

Then  answer  for  us  all,  "Our  sweetest  bard 

Is  the  blind  man  of  Chios'  rocky  isle !" 

The  reputation  which  ^Homer's  poetry  gave  him,  together  with  the  dis- 
tinguished abili1$r  with  which  he  conducted  his  school,  attracted  the  atten- 


46  HOMER.  [LECT.  IL 

tion,  and  elicited  tne  admiration,  not  only  of  the  citizens  of  Smyrna,  but 
of  all  strangers  whose  business  or  pleasure  might  lead  them  to  visit  that 
city.  Indeed,  so  great  was  his  fame,  that  the  purposes  of  a  visit  to 
Smyrna  were  scarcely  considered  attained,  unless  an  interview  with  the 
distinguished  young  bard  had  been  enjoyed.  Amongst  others,  whose 
pursuits  brought  them  at  this  time  to  Smyrna,  was  Mentes,  a  shipmaster 
of  Leucadia.  Being  himself  a  man  of  genius  and  attainments,  and  also 
of  an  enthusiastic  temperament,  he  sought  the  acquaintance  of  Homer ; 
and  the  similarity  of  their  tastes  soon  induced  in  them  a  very  strong 
personal  attachment  for  each  other.  Homer  had  already  conceived  the 
idea  of  writing  the  Iliad,  the  subject  of  which  had  long  been  familiar  t& 
his  countrymen — many  of  the  incidents  having,  doubtless,  already  been 
celebrated  in  poetic  numbers.  With  an  invitation,  therefore,  from 
Mentes,  when  he  was  preparing  to  leave  Smyrna,  to  accompany  him  in 
his  future  voyages,  Homer  at  once  complied,  as  it  would  afford  him  an 
opportunity  to  visit  those  places,  the  description  of  which  the  Iliad  would 
necessarily  embrace.  Preparations  being  accordingly  made,  and  the 
time  fixed  for  their  departure  having  arrived,  they  embarked  from 
Smyrna  for  Egypt — touching,  as  they  passed,  at  the  various  Grecian 
islands  and  ports  which  lay  in  their  way  thither.  In  Egypt  they  re- 
mained a  sufficient  length  of  time  to  afford  Homer  an  opportunity  to 
familiarize  himself  with  the  gods  of  that  country  5  and  it  was  thence  that 
he  derived  the  names  of  those  divinities  whose  attributes  were  afterwards 
exhibited  in  his  great  poems. 

From  Egypt  Mentes  sailed  along  the  northern  coast  of  Africjp;ouch- 
ing  at  the  various  ports  of  that  country  as  he  passed,  and  finally  reached 
Spain,  where  he  remained  for  some  months,  transacting  such  business  as 
had  brought  him  thither.  From  Spain  they  resolved  to  return  imme- 
diately to  their  native  country ;  but  while  on  their  way  some  circumstance 
transpired,  which  is  not  particularly  mentioned,  and  which  led  them  to 
the  island  of  Ithica — the  ancient  home  of  Ulysses.  While  in  Ithica, 
.  Homer  was  seized  with  an  affection  of  the  eyes,  which  soon  became  so 
serious  that,  on  the  departure  of  Mentes  from  the  island,  he  was  com- 
pelled to  leave  Homer  behind  him.  He  was  careful,  however,  to  intro- 
duce Homer,  before  he  left,  to  the  kindness  and  care  of  Mentor,  one  of 
the  chief  men  of  the  island,  and  by  whom  he  was  treated  with  every  pos- 
sible degree  of  attention.  Thus  unexpectedly  detained  in  Ithica,  Homer 
embraced  the  opportunity  which  the  circumstance  afforded  him,  of  col- 
lecting those  particulars  concerning  the  life  and  adventures  of  Ulysses, 
which  he  afterwards  so  beautifully  elaborated  in  the  Odyssey. 

After  a  few  months'  absence  in  Leucadia,  Mentes  returned  to  Ithica, 
and  Homer  in  the  meantime  having  partially  recovered  from  the  affection 
of  his  eyes,  embarked  with  him  for  Smyrna.  On  his  way  thither  he 
completed  the  Iliad,  and,  soon  after  his  arrival,  presented  it  to  the 
public.  The  admiration  with  which  the  work  was  received,  was  un 


• 
920A.C.J  HOMER.  47 

bounded ;  but  the  unsettled  condition  in  which  Homer  had  left  his  per- 
sonal affairs  at  his  departure  from  his  home,  together  with  the  heavy  ex- 
penses attending  his  distant  journeyings,  involved  him  in  such  embarrass- 
ments that  a  longer  residence  in  Smyrna  would  be  irksome  and  even 
oppressive.  He  therefore  left  his  birth-place,  and  retired  to  Cumas,  the 
home  of  his  maternal  ancestors,  hoping  there  to  meet  with  a  reception  in 
accordance  with  the  distinguished  fame  he  had  now  acquired.  The 
Cumasaus  received  him  with  unbounded  ^pleasure,  and  expressed  their 
gratification  at  his  return  to  his  ancestral  home,  in  terms  of  unlimited 
satisfaction  ;  but  when  they  learned  what  his  circumstances  were,  and  the 
purpose  for  which  he  had  come  thither,  and  especially  when  he  intimated 
to  them  that  his  design  was  to  immortalize  their  city  in  poetic  numbers, 
with  the  expectation  of  receiving  from  them  a  pension  sufficient  to  sup- 
port him  during  the  remainder  of  his  life,  they  at  once  replied  that, 
should  they  accede  to  all  such  requests,  there  would  be  no  end  to  the 
number  of  blind  bards  that  they  should  have  to  support. 

Incensed  at  being  thus  repulsed  by  the  citizens  of  Cumse,  -Homer  went 
to  Phocoea,  a  neighboring  town,  resolving  there  publicly  to  recite  his 
poems,  and  observe  the  effect  they  would  produce.  He  had  been  but  a 
short  time  in  Phoeoaa  before  he  met  with  Thestorides,  a  distinguished 
school-master  of  that  place,  and  who,  ascertaining  the  pressing  necessities 
of  the  needy  bard,  proposed  to  give  him  a  home  in  his  own  house  and 
with  his  own  family,  on  condition  that  he  would  allow  him  to  take  a 
copy  of  his  verses.  At  this  time  Homer  seems  to  have  lost  his  sight,  and 
his  pressing  necessities  therefore  compelled  him  to  comply  with  Thes- 
torides, proposal.  Thestorides,  however,  proved  treacherous  to  the  poet ; 
for  he  had  no  sooner  obtained  a  copy  of  his  verses  than  he  left  Phocrea, 
and  retired  to  Chios,  a  neighboring  island,  where  he  soon  acquired  con- 
siderable wealth  by  reciting  Homer's  poems.  After  some  considerable 
time  had  passed,  Homer  accidentally  learned  that  Thestorides  was  at 
Chios,  and  he  resolved  therefore  to  follow  him  thither,  and  obtain  from 
him  if  possible  the  restoration  of  his  poems.  Thestorides,  however,  be- 
came advised  of  the  design  of  Homer,  and  escaped  to  some  other  part  of 
Ionian  Greece  before  the  poet's  arrival ;  and  Homer,  finding  himself  at 
Chios  in  a  state  of  comparative  destitution,  and  having  no  other  source 
of  dependence,  resolved  to  return  to  his  early  profession,  and  open  in 
that  island  a  school  of  polite  learning,  on  a  plan  similar  to  the  one  he 
had  so  long  prosecuted  in  Smyrna.  His  skill  as  a  teacher  was  soon 
recognized  and  appreciated  at  Chios,  and  his  patronage  was  such  as  to 
surpass  his  most  sanguine  expectations.  This  circumstance,  together 
with  the  numerous  friendships  that  he  there  soon  formed,  induced  him  to 
determine  to  make  Chios  the  place  of  his  permanent  residence.  He 
eventually  married  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  chief  citizens  of  the  island, 
and  designed  there  to  pass  the  remainder  of  his  life.  The  people  of 


48  HOMER.  [Leer.  II. 

Chios,  even  to  this  day,  point  out  the  spot  where  Homer  imparted  his 
instructions,  and  the  groves  and  seats  which  his  scholars  occupied. 

While  he  resided  at  Chios,  Homer  composed  his  Odyssey,  and  artfully 
interwove  into  the  work  the  names  of  Mentes,  Mentor,  and  other  friends 
whom  grateful  recollections  for  kindness  kept  ever  fresh  in  his  memory, 
and  from  whom  he  had,  from  time  to  time,  received  distinguished  marks 
of  favor.  Having  resolved  to  visit  Athens,  he  introduced  into  his  poem, 
with  much  art,  the  name  of  that  celebrated  city,  which  had  already 
assumed  an  imposing  position  amongst  the  cities  of  Greece.  This  special 
recognition  of  their  relative  position,  induced  the  Athenians  to  extend  an 
invitation  to  Homer  to  visit  their  city  as  a  public  guest.  This  invita- 
tion, flattering  to  his  vanity,  and  grateful  to  his  feelings,  he  resolved  to 
accept ;  and  he  accordingly  left  Chios  for  the  purpose  of  executing  his 
design.  On  his  way  to  Athens,  however,  the  vessel  in  which  he  had  taken 
passage  was  cast  upon  the  island  of  Samos,  and  there  Homer  and  his 
companions  were  obliged  to  pass  the  winter.  In  the  following  spring  cir- 
cumstances again  required  his  attention  at  Chios;  but  soon  after  his 
return  to  that  island,  his  exhausted  strength  gave  way,  and,  sinking  under 
the  effects  of  a  disease  with  which  he  had  long  been  afflicted,  his  death 
soon  followed ;  and,  at  his  own  request,  he  was  buried  on  the  borders  of 
the  sea,  that  the  flowing  waves,  as  they  rolled  against  the  shore,  might 
obliterate  every  trace  of  the  spot  where  his  remains  reposed,  and  he  thus 
rest  in  his  quiet  and  undisturbed  grave. 

Of  the  various  productions  attributed  to  Homer,  the  Iliad  and  the 
Odyssey  are  the  only  ones  .that  are  unquestionably  his.  Besides  these, 
however,  there  is  internal  evidence  that  a  number  of  the  hymns  assigned 
to  him  were  of  his  composing ;  such  as  the  hymn  to  Apollo,  already  men- 
tioned. It  is  true  that  time  may  have  prevailed  in  obliterating  many 
other  of  the  important  productions  of  his  pen ;  such  as  the  Margites  and 
Cecropes;  but  while  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey  remain,  he  seems  like  a 
leader,  who,  though  he  may  have  failed  in  a  skirmish  or  two,  has  yet 
gained  a  victory  for  which  he  will  pass  in  triumph  through  all  future  ages. 

The  genius  of  Homer  was  vast,  versatile,  and  in  a  peculiar  degree,  orig- 
inal. His  versatility  and  his  creative  power  are  certainly  without  a  par- 
allel amongst  the  ancients,  and  in  modern  times  he  has  scarcely  had  an 
equal.  The  worthies  of  antiquity  were  uniformly  formed  after  the  models 
found  in  his  poems.  From  him  law-givers,  and  the  founders  of  monarch- 
ies and  commonwealths  took  the  models  of  their  politics.  Hence,  too,  phi- 
losophers drew  the  first  principles  of  the  morality  which  they  taught  their 
disciples.  Here,  also,  physicians  learned  the  nature  of  diseases,  and  their 
causes ;  the  astronomers  of  ancient  times  acquired  their  knowledge  of  the 
heavens,  and  geometricians  of  the  earth ;  kings  and  princes  the  art  of 
government,  and  captains  to  form  a  battle,  to  encamp  an  army,  to  besiege 
towns,  to  fight,  and  to  gain  victories.  It  is  no  exaggerated  praise  of 


920A.C.]  HOMER.  49 

Homer  to  say,  that  no  man  ever  understood  men  and  things  better  than 
he  did,  or  had  a  deeper  insight  into  the  humors  and  passions  of  human 
nature.  He  represents  great  things  with  such  sublimity,  and  little  things 
with  such  propriety,  that  he  always  makes  the  one  admirable,  and  the 
other  agreeable.  Strabo,  the  ancient  geographer  already  mentioned,  as- 
sures us  that .  Homer  has  described  the  places  and  the  countries  of  which 
he  gives  us  an  account,  with  that  accuracy  that  no  man  can  imagine  who 
has  not  seen  them,  and  which  no  man  but  must  admire,  and  be  astonished 
at !  His  poems  may  justly  be  compared  with  that  shield  of  divine  work- 
manship, so  inimitably  represented  in  the  eighteenth  book  of  the  Iliad, 
where  we  have  exact  images  of  all  the  actions  of  war,  and  all  the  employ- 
ments of  peace,  and  are,  at  the  same  time,  entertained  with  a  delightful 
view  of  the  universe. 

These  opinions  are  sustained  by  the  highest  authority.  Sir  William 
Temple,  in  his  estimate  of  the  comparative  merits  of  Homer  and  Virgil 
indulges  in  the  following  remarks : — -u  Homer  was,  without  doubt,  the 
most  universal  genius  that  has  been  known  in  the  world,  and  Virgil  the 
most  accomplished.  To  the  first  must  be  allowed  the  most  fertile  inven- 
tion, the  richest  vein,  the  most  general  knowledge,  and  the  most  lively 
expressions;  to  the  last,  the  noblest  ideas,  the  justest  institutions,  the 
wisest  conduct,  and  the  choicest  elocution.  To  speak  in  the  painters' 
terms,  we  find  in  the  works  of  Homer  the  most  spirit,  force,  and  life ;  in 
those  of  Virgil  the  best  designs,  the  truest  proportions,  and  the  greatest 
grace.  The  coloring  of  both  seems  equal,  and  indeed  in  both  is  admir- 
able. Homer  had  more  fire  and  rapture ;  Virgil  more  light  and  sweetness; 
or  at  least  the  poetical  fire  was  more  raging  in  the  one,  but  clearer  in  the 
other ;  which  makes  the  first  more  amazing,  and  the  latter  more  agree- 
able. The  ore  was  richer  in  the  one,  but  in  the  other  more  refined  and 
better  alloyed  to  make  up  excellent  work.  Upon  the  whole  it  must  be 
confessed  that  Homer  was  of  the  two,  and  perhaps  of  all  others,  the  vast- 
est, the  sublimest,  and  the  most  wonderful  genius ;  and  that  he  has  been 
generally  so  esteemed,  there  can  be  no  greater  testimony  given  than  has 
been  by  some  observed,  that  not  only  the  greatest  masters  have  found  the 
best  and  truest  principles  of  all  their  sciences  and  arts  in  him,  but  that 
the  noblest  nations  have  derived  from  him  the  original  of  their  several 
races,  though  it  be  hardly  yet  agreed  whether  his  story  be  true  or  a  fic- 
tion. In  short,  these  two  immortal  poets  must  be  allowed  to  have  so 
much  excelled  in  their  kind,  as  to  have  exceeded  all  comparison,  to  have 
extinguished  emulation,  and  in  a  manner  confined  true  poetry,  not  only 
to  their  own  languages,  but  to  their  very  poems."  We  are  not  to  be  un- 
derstood as  designing  to  convey  our  own  peculiar  views  of  the  genius  of 
Homer  in  the  language  of  this  extract ;  but  the  source  whence  it  comes 
is  so  exalted,  and  the  position  of  the  author  so  authoritative,  that  we  felt 
it  due  to  him  to  introduce  it  without  abbreviation. 

The  chief  characteristic  of  Homer's  genius  has  usually  been  regarded 


50  HOMER.  [LEOT.  II. 

to  be  its  sublimity.  We  do  not  conceive,  however,  that  this  term  con- 
veys a  sufficiently  comprehensive  view  of  his  poetic  excellence.  That  he 
was  remarkable  for  his  sublimity,  must  be  conceded  by  every  critic ;  but 
that  he  possessed  other  poetic  properties  of  equal  excellence  cannot,  for  a 
moment,  be  denied.  To  our  view  his  grand  characteristic  is  nature.  In 
it  is  the  serene  majesty  of  Deity  in  repose,  and  in  that  moral  sublime 
which  is  conversant  with  human  passions,  the  powers  of  his  genius 
appear  the  most  astonishing.  When  we  have  once  imagined  a  giant,  it 
requires  no  great  effort  to  make  him  stride  in  three  steps  from  one  prom- 
ontory to  another ;  but  it  is  not  every  poet  who  can  represent  Achilles 
receiving,  in  his  tent,  the  embassy  from  Agamemnon  with  the  calm 
severity  of  dignified  resentment — soothing  his  angry  soul  with  the  tones 
of  his  immortal  harp,  or  smiting  his  thigh  with  a  start  of  generous  emo- 
tion at  the  sight  of  the  Grecian  ships  in  flames.  It  is  here  that  Homer 
excels,  and  it  is  in  such  scenes  and  under  such  circumstances  that  his 
extraordinary  power  exhibits  itself.  We  feel  for  Achilles,  in  the  midst 
of  all  his  raging,  and  the  severity  of  his  resentment,  as  for  an  injured 
fellow  being ;  and  when  his  anger  towards  Agamemnon  is  overcome  by 
the  fate  of  his  beloved  Patrocles,  the  gushings  of  admiration  flow  forth 
in  all  their  generous  warmth,  and  we  accompany  him  with  a  feeling  of 
personal  interest  in  every  event  that  thenceforth  transpires,  until  Hector, 
the  slayer  of  his  friend,  is  prostrate  at  his  feet.  But  we  must  forbear. 

The  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey  of  Homer,  as  we  learn  from  Athenseus, 
were  originally  produced,  each  as  an  entire  whole,  and  not  divided  into 
books,  as  we  now  have  them.  But  as  few  only  could  afford  to  purchase 
them  entire,  they  were  circulated  in  detached  parts,  and  assumed  names 
according  to  their  respective  contents;  as,  '  The  Battle  of  the  Ships,' 
<  The  Death  of  Dolon,'  '  -The  Valor  of  Agamemnon,'  <  The  Grot  of  Ca- 
lipso,'  and  '  The  Slaughter  of  the  Wooers;'  and  were  not  then  entitled 
Books,  but  Rhapsodies.  The  first  complete  copy  of  Homer's  poems  was 
introduced  into  Greece  about  a  century  after  they  were  composed,  by 
Lycurgus,  the  celebrated  Spartan  lawgiver ;  who,  passing,  in  his  travels, 
through  Ionia,  there  found  them,  and  with  his  own  hand  transcribed  and 
brought  them  into  his  own  country.  This  may,  therefore,  be  considered 
the  first  edition  of  these  immortal  works.  About  two  centuries  after- 
wards, Pisistratus.  the  tyrant  of  Athens,  caused  them  to  be  carefully 
revised,  and  reduced  to  their  present  form. 

In  our  extracts  from  the  writings  of  this  great  poet,  we  shall  confine 
ourselves  to  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey,  as  the  authority  of  these  poems  has 
never  been  questioned.  The  first  passage  we  introduce  is  a  scene  from 
the  second  book  of  the  Iliad,  containing  the  description  of  a  contest 
Between  Ulysses  and  Thersites,  with  a  portraiture  of  Thersites'  person. 


920A.C.]  HOMER.  51 


ULYSSES  AND  THERSITES. 

With  words  like  these  the  troops  Ulysses  rul'd, 

The  loudest  silenc'd,  and  the  fiercest  cool'd. 

Back  to  th'  assembly  roll  the  thronging  train, 

Desert  the  ships,  and  pour  upon  the  plain. 

Murmuring  they  move,  as  when  old  Ocean  roars, 

And  heaves  huge  surges  to  the  trembling  shores: 

The  groaning  banks  are  burst  with  bellowing  sound. 

The  rocks  reinurmnr  aud  the  deeps  rebound. 

At  length  the  tumult  sinks,  the  noises  cease, 

And  the  still  silence  lulls  the  camp  to  peace. 

Thersites  only  clamor'd  in  the  throng, 

Loquacious,  loud,  and  turbulent  of  tongue : 

Aw'd  by  no  shame,  by  no  respect  control'd, 

In  scandal  busy,  in  reproaches  bold: 

With  witty  malice  studious  to  defame ; 

Scorn  all  his  joy,  and  laughter  all  his  aim. 

But  chief  he  gloried  with  licentious  style, 

To  lash  the  great,  and  monarchs  to  revile. 

His  figure  such  as  might  his  soul  proclaim; 

One  eye  was  blinking,  and  one  leg  was  lame : 

His  mountain-shoulders  half  his  breast  o'erspread, 

Thin  hairs  bestrew'd  his  long  mis-shapen  head. 

Spleen  to  mankind  his  envious  heart  possess'd, 

And  much  he  hated  all,  but  most  the  best. 

Ulysses  or  Achilles  still  his  theme; 

But  royal  scandal  his  delight  supreme. 

Long  had  he  liv'd  the  scorn  of  every  Greek, 

Vext  when  he  spoke,  yet  still  they  heard  him  speak  f 

Sharp  was  his  voice ;   which,  in  the  shrillest  tone, 

Thus  with  injurious  taunts  attack'd  the  throne : 

Amidst  the  glories  of  so  bright  a  reign, 
What  moves  the  great  Atrides  to  complain? 
'Tis  thine  whate'er  the  warrior's  breast  inflames, 
The  golden  spoil,  and  thine  the  lovely  dames. 
With  all  the  wealth  our  wars  and  blood  bestow, 
Thy  tents  are  crowded,  and  thy  chests  o'erflow. 
Thus  at  full  ease  in  heaps  of  riches  roll'd, 
What  grieves  the  monarch  ?   is  it  thirst  of  gold  ? 
Say,  shall  we  march  with  our  unconquer'd  powers 
(The  Greeks  and  I),  to  Ilium's  hostile  towers, 
And  bring  the  race  of  royal  bastards  here, 
For  Troy  to  ransom  at  a  price  too  dear  ? 
But  safer  plunder  thy  own  host  supplies; 
Say,  wouldst  thou  seize  some  valiant  leader's  prize  ? 
Or,  if  thy  heart  to  generous  love  be  led, 
Some  captive  fair,  to  bless  thy  kingly  bed  ? 
Whate'er  our  master  craves,  submit  we  must, 
Plagued  with  his  pride,  or  punish'd  for  his  lust. 


HOMER.  [LECT.H 

Oh  -women  of  Achaia  1   men  no  more ! 
Hence  let  us  fly,  and  let  him  waste  his  store 
In  loves  and  pleasures  on  the  Phrygian  shore. 
We  may  be  wanted  on  some  busy  day, 
When  Hector  comes :    so  great  Achilles  may : 
From  him  be  forc'd  the  prize  we  jointly  gave, 
From  him,  the  fierce,  the  fearless,  and  the  brave : 
And  durst  he,  as  he  ought,  resent  that  wrong, 
This  mighty  tyrant  were  no  tyrant  long. 

Fierce  from  his  seat  at  this  Ulysses  springs, 
In  generous  vengeance  of  the  king  of  kings. 
With  indignation  sparkling  in  his  eyes, 
He  views  the  wretch,  and  sternly  thus  replies : 

Peace,  factious  monster,  born  to  vex  the  State, 
With  wrangling  talents  form'd  for  foul  debate, 
Curb  that  impetuous  tongue,  nor  rashly  vain 
And  singly  mad,  asperse  the  sovereign  reign. 
Have  we  not  known  thee,  slave !    of  all  our  host, 
The  man  who  acts  the  least,  upbraids  the  most? 
Think  not  the  Greeks  to  shameful  flight  to  bring, 
Nor  let  those  lips  profane   the  name  of  king. 
For  our  return  we  trust  the  heavenly  powers ; 
Be  that  their  care ;   to  fight  like  men  be  ours. 
But  grant  the  -host  with  wealth  the  general  load, 
Except  detraction,  what  hast  thou  bestow'd  ? 
Suppose  some  hero  should  his  spoils  resign, 
Art  thou  that  hero  ?  could  those  spoils  be  thine  ? 
Gods !    let  me  perish  on  this  hateful  shore, 
And  let  these  eyes  behold  my  son  no  more, 
If  on  thy  next  offence,  this  hand  forbear 
%To  strip  those  arms  thou  ill  deserv'st  to  wear, 
Expel  the  council  where  our  princes  meet, 
And  send  thee  scourg'd  and  howling  through  the  fleet. 

He  said,  and  cowering  as  the  dastard  bends, 
The  mighty  sceptre  on  his  back  descends. 
On  the  round  bunch  the  bloody  tumors  rise; 
The  tears  spring  starting  from  his  haggard  eyes  : 
Trembling  he  sat,  and  shrank  in  abject  fears, 
From  his  vile  visage  wip'd  the  scalding  tears. 
While  to  his  neighbor  each  express'd  his  thought 
Ye  gods !  what  wonders  has  Ulysses  wrought ! 
What  fruits  his  conduct  and  his  courage  yield! 
Great  in  the  council,  glorious  in  the  field! 
Generous  he  rises  in  the  crown's  defence, 
To  curb  the  factious  tongue  of  insolence. 
Such  just  examples  on  offenders  shown, 
Sedition  silence,  and  assert  the  throne. 


92C  A.C.  HOMER.  53 


PARTING  INTERVIEW  OF  HECTOR  AND  ANDROMACHE. 

Straight  to  his  roomy  palace  Hector  came ; 
But  found  not  in  the  mansion  her  he  sought, 
White  arm'd  Andromache.     She,  with  her  son, 
And  her  robed  handmaid  stood  upon  the  tower 
Wailing  with  loud  lament.     But  when  in  vain 
He  sought  within  her  house  his  blameless  wife, 
Hector,  advanced  upon  the  threshold,  stood 
And  to  the  damsels  spake :    Now  tell  me  true, 
Ye  damsels  !    whither  from  her  house  went  forth 
The  fair  Andromache  ?    say,  doth  she  seek 
Her  husband's  sisters,  or  her  brethren's  wives, 
Or  at  Minerva's  temple  join  the  train 
Of  Trojan  women,  who  propitiate  now 
With  offerings  the  tremendous  Deity ! 

The  careful  women  of  the  house-hold  then 
Address'd  reply:  To  tell  thee,  Hector,  truth, 
As  thou  requirest,  neither  doth  she  seek 
Her  husband's  sisters,  nor  her  brethren's  wives, 
Nor  at  Minerva's  temple  join  the  train 
Of  Trojan  women  who  propitiate  now 
With  offerings  the  tremendous  Deity. 
But  she  has  mounted  on  a  massive  tower 
Of  Troy ;  for  that  she  heard  the  Trojan  host 
Were  worsted,  while  the  strength  of  Greeks  prevailed. 
So  hastening  rush'd  she  to  the  city  wall, 
Like  to  one  frantic,  with  the  nurse  and  child. 
The  women  of  the  household  said  :  and  forth 
Sprang  Hector  from  the  mansion,  and  trod  back 
His  footsteps  through  the  stately  rows  of  streets. 
Crossing  the  spacious  city,  he  now  reach'd 
The  Scaean  gates ;  through  them  his  passage  lay 
Forth  to  the  field.     But  then  his  high-dower'd  wife 
Came  running  on  his  steps.     Andromache, 
Eetion's     daughter ;  who  in  woody  tracts 
Of  Hypoplacian  Thebes  once  stretch'd  his  sway 
O'er  the  Cilicians.     So  his  daughter  lived, 
The  bride  of  Hector  with  the  brazen  helm ; 
Who  now  came  running  on  his  steps;  while  close 
The  handmaid  follow'd  her,  and  at  her  breast 
The  babe,  as  yet  a  tender  innocent, 
Darling  of  Hector,  fair  as  any  star, 
Whom  Hector  named  Scarnandrius ;  they  of  Troy, 
Astyanax;  since  Hector  was  alone 
Their  city's  safeguard.      He,  on  their  approach, 
Casting  a  look  upon  his  infant  boy, 
Silently  smiled.     Andromache,  all  bathed 
In  tears,  stood  by ;  and,  clinging  to  his  hand, 
Address'd  him :  '  Noble  husband  !  thy  great  heart 
Will  sure  destroy  thee.     Thou  no  pity  hast 


54  HOMER.  [LECT.  IL 

For  this  thy  infant  son  and  wretched  me, 
Whom  thou  wilt  leave  a  widow.     For  the  Greeks 
Will  slay  thee  soon  with  overpowering  charge 
Of  numbers.     It  were  better  far  that  I, 
Once  reft  of  thee,  should  sink  within  the  grave. 
I  have  no  other  comfort  when  thy  life 
Has  yielded  to  its  destiny;   but  grief 
Must  be  my  portion.     Father  have  I  none, 
Nor  mother.     The  high-born  Achilles  slew 
My  father  when  he  laid  the  city  waste 
Of  the  Cilicians,  Thebes  with  lofty  gates. 
He  slew    Eetion,  but  despoiled  him  not ; 
For  he  was  bound  by  secret  vows;  and  burn'd 
His  body  with  his  variegated  mail, 
And  heap'd  a  mount  upon  him;  and  the  nymphs 
That  haunt  the  hills,  Jove's  daughters,  planted  it 
With  circle  of  tall  elms.     Seven  brothers,  too, 
Were  mine  within  the  mansion  where  we  dwelt; 
These,  in  one  d.ay  were  hurried'  to  the  grave. 
•  The  fleet  of  foot,  Achilles  highly  born, 
Destroyed  them  all,  surpris'd  among  their  herds 
And  flocks.     My  mother,  who  the  woody  tracts 
Of  Hypoplacia  sway'd,  he  hither  led 
With  all  her  treasures ;  yet  a  ransom  took 
And  sent  her  free.     But  in  her  father's  house 
She  was  death-stricken  by  Diana's  darts. 
Thou,  Hector,  art  my  father !    thou  to  me 
Art  mother,  brother,  all  my  joy  of  life, 
My  husband!  come,  be  merciful,  remain 
Here  in  this  turret ;  make  not  of  this  child 
An  orphan,  nor  a  widow  of  thy  wife. 
Command  the  Trojan  army  to. a  halt 
At  the  wild  fig-tree,  where  the  city  lies 
Most  easy  of  ascent,  and  most  exposed 
The  rampart  to  assault.     Already  thrice 
The  bravest  of  their  warriors  have  essay'd 
To  force  the  wall ;  the  fam'd  Idomeneus. 
And  either  Ajax,  and  brave  Diomed, 
And  Atreus'  sons :  whether  some  skilful  seer. 
Have  prophesied  before  them,  or  their  minds 
Have  prompted  them  spontaneous  to  the  act.' 
At  these  her  words  the  lofty  Hector  shook 
His  party -colored  horse-hair  plume,  and  spoke: 
'  Believe  it,  oh  my  wife  !  these  same  sad  thoughts 
Have  touch'd  me  nearly ;  but  I  also  fear 
The  Trojans  and  the  women  fair  of  Troy, 
If  like  a  dastard  I  should  skulk  apart 
From  battle.     Nor  to  this  my  own  free  mind 
Prompts  me;  for  I  was  trained  from  earliest  years 
To  a  brave  spirit ;  and  have  learn'd  to  fight 
Still  in  the  Trojan  van,  and  still  maintain 
My  country's  mighty  honor  and  my  own. 


920  A.C.] 


HOMER. 


55 


I  know  too  well,  and  in  my  heart  and  soul 

I  feel  the  deep  conviction,  that  a  time 

Will  come  when  sacred  Troy  shall  be  no  more, 

But  Priam  and  his  people  be  destroy'd 

From  off  the  face  of  earth.      The  after-woe 

Of  these  my  countrymen  afflicts  me  not; 

No,  nor  the  grief  of  Hecuba's  despair, 

Nor  kingly  Priam's,  nor  the  woeful  lot 

Of  brethren,  brave  and  many,  who  shall  fall 

Beneath  their  foes,  as  thine,  Andromache ! 

When  some  stern  Grecian,  with  his  mail  of  brass, 

Shall  lead  thee  in  thy  tears  away,  and  snatch 

The  light  of  freedom  from  thee:  when,  detain'd 

At  Argos,  thou  shalt  weave  the  color'd  web, 

Task'd  by  another,  or  shall  waters  bear 

From  fountains  of  Hyperia,  sore  averse 

And  faint,  yet  yielding  to  the  hard  control 

That  lays  the  burthen  on  thee.     Haply  then 

Some  passer,  looking  on  thy  tears,  may  cry: 

"  This  was  the  wife  of  Hector,  who  was  once 

Chief  warrior  of  the  Trojans  when  they  fought 

With  their   fam'd   horses  round  the  walls  of  Troy: 

So  will  he  say :  and  thou  wilt  grieve  afresh 

At  loss  of  him  who  might  have«  warded  off 

The  day  of  slavery.     But  may  earth  have  heap'd 

The  hill  upon  my  corse  ere  of  thy  cries 

My  ear  be  conscious,  or  my  soul  perceive 

The  leading  of  thy  sad  captivity.' 

So  spake  the  noble  Hector ;  and  with  hands 
Outstretch'd  bent  forward  to  embrace  his  child. 
The  babe  against  the  damsel's  broad-zoned  breast 
Lean'd  backward,  clinging  with  a  cry,  disturb'd 
At  his  lov'd  father's  aspect,  and  in  fear 
Of  the  keen  brass  that  glazed  upon  his  gaze, 
And  horse-hair  sweeping  crest  that  nodded  fierce 
Upon  the  helmet's  cone.     The  father  dear, 
And  honor 'd  mother  to  each  other  la  ugh' d : 
Instant  the  noble  Hector  from  his  head 
Lifted  the  casque,  and  plac'd  it  on  the  ground, 
Far-beaming  where  it  stood ;  then  kissed  his  boy, 
And  dandled  in  his  arms;  imploring  thus 
Jove,  and  the  other  Deities  of  heaven : 
'  Hear,  Jupiter !  and  every  God  on  high ! 
Grant  this  may  come  to  pass  !  that  he,  my  son, 
May  shine  among  the  Trojans  in  renown 
And  strength  as  I  myself,  and  reign  o'er  Troy 
In  valor ;  that  of  him  it  may  be  said 
By  one  who  sees  him  coming  from  the  field 
"  Truly  the  son  transcends  the  father's  deeds !" 
Grant  him  to  slay  his  enemy,  and  bear 
The  bloody  trophy  back  and  glad  the  heart 
Of  this  his  mother  1"     So  he  said,  and  placed 


56  HOMER.  [LECT.  IL 

The  babe  within  his  own  beloved's  arms: 
She  softly  laid  him  on  her  balmy  breast, 
Smiling  through  tears.     The  husband  at  that  sight 
Melted  in  pity,  with  his  hand  he  smooth'd 
Her  cheek,  and  spoke  again  these  gentle  words: 
'  Noblest  of  women  I  do  not  grieve  me  thus ; 
Against  concurring  fate  no  mortal  man 
Can  send  me  to  the  grave ;  and  this  I  say, 
That  none  who  once  has  breath'd  the  breath  of  life, 
Coward  or  brave,  can  hope  to  shun  his  fate; 
But  hie  thee  to  thy  mansion,  that  thy  works, 
The  loom  and  distaff,  may  engage  thy  thoughts. 
Go  task  thy  maidens.     War  must  be  the  care, 
And  mine  the  chief,  and  every  man  of  Troy.' 

The  noble  Hector  said,  and  raised  from  earth 
His  horse-hair  crested  helm.      With  homeward  step 
His  dear  wife  parted  from  him,  and   turn'd  back 
Her  eyes,  the  fast  tears  trickling  down  her  cheek. 


THE  EMBASSY  OF  ULYSSES,  AJAX,  AND  PHCENIX,  TO  ACHILLES 

And  now  arriv'd,  where,  on  the  sandy  bay, 
The  Myrmidonian  tents  and  vessels  lay; 
Amus'd,  at  ease,  the  godlike  man  they  found, 
Pleas'd  with  the  solemn  harp's  harmonious  sound. 
(The  well  wrought  harp  from  conquer'd  Thebae  came, 
Of  polish'd  silver  was  its  costly  frame :) 
With  this  he  soothes  his  angry  soul,  and  sings 
Th'  immortal  deeds  of  heroes  and  of  kings. 
Patroclus  only  of  the  royal  train, 
Plac'd  in  his  tent,  attends  the  lofty  strain: 
Full  opposite  he  sat,  and  listen'd  long, 
In  silence  waiting  till  he  ceas'd  the  song, 
Unseen  the  Grecian  embassy  proceeds 
To  his  high  tent;  the  great  Ulysses  leads. 
Achilles  starting,  as  the  chiefs  he  spied, 
Leap'd  from  his  seat,  and  laid  the  harp  aside. 
With  like  surprise  arose  Mencetius'  son: 
Pelides  grasp'd  their  hands,  and  thus  begun: 

Princes,  all  hail!   whatever  brought  you  here, 
Or  strong  necessity,  or  urgent  fear ; 
Welcome,  though  Greeks !   for  not  as  foes  ye  came ; 
To  me  more  dear  than  all  that  bear  the  name. 

With  that  the  chiefs  beneath  his  roof  he  led, 
And  plac'd  in  seats  with  purple  carpets  spread. 
Then  thus — Patroclus,  crown  a  larger  bowl, 
Mix  purer  wine,  and  open  every  soul, 
Of  all  the  warriors  yonder  host  can  send, 
Thy  friend  must  honor  these,  and  these  thy  friend. 
****** 
That  done,  to  Phoenix  Ajax  .gave  the  sign ; 
Not  unperceiv'd;  Ulysses  crown'd  with  wine 


920  A.C.]  HOMER.  57 

The  foaming  bowl,  and  instant  thus  began, 
His  speech  addressing  to  the  godlike  man : 

Health  to  Achilles  !  happy  are  thy  guests ! 
Not  thus  more  honor 'd  whom  Atrides  feasts  : 
Though  generous  plenty  crown  your  loaded  boards, 
That  A  gamemnon's  regal  tent  affords : 
But  greater  cares  sit  heavy  on  our  souls, 
Not  eas'd  by  banquets,  or  by  flowing  bowls. 
What  scenes  of  slaughter  in  yon  fields  appear ! 
The  dead  we  mourn,  and  for  the  living  fear; 
Greece  on  the  brink  of  fate  all  dreadful  stands, 
And  owns  no  help  but  from  thy  saving  hands : 
Troy  and  her  aids  for  ready  vengeance  call ; 
Their  threatening  tents  already  shade  our  wall : 
Hear  how  with  shouts  their  conquests  they  proclaim, 
And  point  at  every  ship  their  vengeful  flame! 
For  them  the  father  of  the  gods  declares, 
Theirs  are  the  omens,  and  his  thunder  theirs. 
See,  full  of  Jove,  avenging  Hector  rise ! 
See !  Heaven  and  earth  the  raging  chief  defies ; 
"What  fury  in  his  breast,  what  lightning  in  his  eyes  1 
He  waits  but  for  the  morn ;  to  sink  in  flame 
The  ships,  the  Greeks,  and  all  the  Grecian  name. 
Heavens  !  how  my  country's  woes  distract  my  mind, 
Lest  fate  accomplish  all  his  rage  design'd ! 
And  must  we,  gods  !  our  heads  inglorious  lay 
In  Trojan  dust,  and  this  the  fatal  day  ? 
Return,  Achilles !    oh,  return,  though  late, 
To  save  thy  Greeks,  and  stop  the  course  of  fate : 
If  in  that  heart  or  grief  or  courage  lies, 
Rise  to  redeem ;  ah  yet,  to  conquer,  rise ! 
The  day  may  come,  when  all  our  warriors  slain, 
That  heart  shall  melt,  that  courage  rise  in  vain. 
Regard  in  time,  0  prince  divinely  brave ! 
These  wholesome  counsels  which  thy  father  gave. 
When  Peleus  in  his  aged  arms  embrac'd 
His  parting  son  these  accents  were  his  last : 
My  child !  with  strength,  and  glory,  and  success, 
Thy  arins  may  Juno  and  Minerva  bless  ! 
Trust  that  to  Heaven ;  but  thou  thy  cares  engage 
To  calm  thy  passions  and  subdue  thy  rage : 
From  gentler  manners  let  thy  glory  grow, 
And  shun  contention,  the  sure  source  of  woe ; 
That  young  and  old  may  in  thy  praise  combine, 
The  virtues  of  humanity  be  thine — 
This  now  despis'd  advice  thy  father  gave ; 
Ah !  check  thy  anger,  and  be  truly  brave. 
If  thou  wilt  yield  to  great  Atrides'  prayers, 
Gifts  worthy  thee  his  royal  hand  prepares; 
If  not — but  hear  me,  while  I  number  o'er 
The  proffer'd  presents,  an  exhaustless  store. 


58  HOMER.  [LEcr.IL 

Then  thus  the  goddess-born;  Ulysses  hear 
A  faithful  speech,  that  knows  nor  art  nor  fear ; 
What  in  my  secret  soul  is  understood, 
My  tongue  shall  utter,  and  my  deeds  make  good. 
Let  Greece  then  know,  my  purpose  I  retain ; 
Nor  with  new  treaties  vex  my  peace  in  vain. 
Who  dares  think  one  thing,  and  another  tell, 
My  heart  destests  him  as  the  gates  of  hell. 

Then  thus  in  short  my  fix'd  resolves  attend, 
Which  nor  Atrides  nor  his  Greeks  can  bend ; 
Long  toils,  long  perils,  in  their  cause  I  bore, 
But  now  th'  unfruitful  glories  charm  no  more. 
Fight,  or  not  fight,  a  like  reward  we  claim, 
The  wretch  and  hero  find  their  prize  the  same ; 
Alike  regretted  in  the  dust  he  lies, 
Who  yields  ignobly,  or  who  bravely  dies. 
Of  all  my  dangers,  all  my  glorious  pains, 
A  life  of  labors,  lo  !  what  fruit  remains  ? 
As  the  bold  bird  her  helpless  young  attends, 
From  danger  guards  them,  and  from  want  defends : 
In  search  of  prey  she  wings  the  spacious  air, 
And  with  th'  untasted  food  supplies  her  care : 
For  thankless  Greece  such  hardships  have  I  brav'd, 
Her  wives,  her  infants,  by  my  labors  sav'd ; 
Long  sleepless  nights  in  heavy  arms  I  stood, 
And  sweat  laborious  days  in  dust  and  blood. 
******* 
My  fates  long  since  by  Thetis  were  disclos'd, 
And  each  alternate,  life  or  fame,  propos'd ; 
Here  if  I  stay,  before  the  Trojan  town, 
Short  is  my  date,  but  deathless  my  renown : 
If  I  return,  I  quit  immortal  praise 
For  years  on  years,  and  long-extended  days. 
Convinc'd,  though  late,  I  find  my  fond  mistake, 
And  warn  the  Greeks  the  wiser  choice  to  make : 
To  quit  these  shores,  their  native  seats  enjoy, 
Nor  hope  the  fall  of  heaven-defended  Troy. 
Jove's  arm  display'd  asserts  her  from  the  skies; 
Her  hearts  are  strengthen'd  and  her  glories  ri#e. 
Go  then  to  Greece,  report  our  fix'd  design; 
Bid  all  your  councils,  all  your  armies  join, 
Let  all  your  forces,  all  your  hearts  conspire 
To  save  the  ships,  the  troops,  the  chiefs  from  fire. 
One  stratagem  has  fail'd,  and  others  will: 
Ye  find  Achilles  is  unconquered  still. 
Go  then — digest  my  message  as  you  may — 
But  here  this  night  let  reverend  Phoenix  stay: 
His  tedious  toils  and  hoary  hairs  demand 
A  peaceful  death  in  Pthia's  friendly  land. 
But  whether  he  remain,  or  sail  with  me, 
His  age  be  sacred,  and  his  will  be  free. 

The  son  of  Peleus  ceased:  the  chiefs  around 
In  silence  wrapp'd,  in  consternation  drown'd, 


920  A.C.]  HOMER  59 

Attend  the  stern  reply.     Then  Phoenix  rose; 
(Down  his  white  beard  a  stream  of  sorrow  flows). 
And  while  the  fate  of  suffering  Greece  he  mourn'd, 
With  accents  weak  these  tender  words  return'd: 

Divine  Achilles !  wilt  thou  then  retire, 
And  leave  our  hosts  in  blood,  our  fleets  on  fire  ? 
If  wrath  so  dreadful  fill  thy  ruthless  mind; 
How  shall  thy  friend,  thy  Phcenix  stay  behind  ? 
The  royal  Peleus,  when  from  Pthia's  coast 
He  sent  thee  early  to  th'  Achaian  host; 
Thy  youth  as  then  in  sage  debates  unskill'd, 
And  new  to  perils  of  the  direful  field ; 
He  bade  me  teach  thee  all  the  ways  of  war  ; 
To  shine  in  councils,  and  in  camps  to  dare. 
Never,  ah  never,  let  me  leave  thy  side ! 
No  time  shall  part  us,  and  no  fate  divide. 
Not  though  the  God,  that  breath'd  my  life,  restore 
The  bloom  I  boasted,  and  the  part  I  bore, 
When  Greece  of  old  beheld  my  youthful  flames, 
Delightful  Greece,  the  land  of  lovely  dames. 
*  ****** 

Now  be  thy  rage,  thy  fatal  rage,  resign'd ; 
A  cruel  heart  ill  suits  a  manly  mind: 
The  gods,  (the  only  great,  and  only  wise) 
Are  mov'd  by  offerings,  vows,  and  sacrifice; 
Offending  man  their  high  compassion  wins, 
And  daily  prayers  atone  for  daily  sins. 
Prayers  are  Jove's  daughters,  of  celestial  race, 
Lame  are  their  feet,  and  wrinkled  is  their  face ; 
With  humble  mein  and  with  dejected  eyes, 
Constant  they  follow  where  Injustice  flies  : 
Injustice,  swift,  erect,  and  unconfin'd, 
Sweeps  the  wide  earth,  and  tramples  o'er  mankind, 
While  prayers,  to  heal  her  wrongs,  move  slow  behind. 
Who  hears  these  daughters  of  almighty  Jove, 
For  him  they  mediate  to  the  throne  above: 
^  When  man  rejects  the  humble  suit  they  make, 

The  sire  revenges  for  the  daughter's  sake ; 
From  Jove  commissiou'd,  fierce  Injustice  then 
Descends,  to  punish  unrelenting  men. 
Oh  let  not  headstrong  passion  bear  the  sway ; 
These  reconciling  goddesses  obey ; 
Due  honors  to  the  seed  of  Jove  belong  : 
Due  honors  calm  the  fierce,  and  bend  the  strong. 
Were  these  not  paid  thee  by  the  terms  we  bring, 
Were  rage  still  harbor'd  in  the  haughty  king; 
Nor  Greece,  nor  all  her  fortunes,  should  engage 
Thy  friend  to  plead  against  so  just  a  rage. 
But  since  what  honor  asks,  the  general  sends, 
And  sends  by  those  whom  most  thy  heart  commends, 
The  best  and  noblest  of  the  Grecian  train; 
Permit  not  these  to  sue,  and  sue  in  vain  1 
******* 


60  HOMER.  [LKCT.U, 

Thus  he:  the  stern.  Achilles   thus  replied: 
My  second  father,  and  my  reverend  guide  1 
Thy  friend,  believe  me,  no  such  gifts  demands, 
And  asks  no  honors  from  a  mortal's  hands; 
Jove  honors  me,  and  favors  my  designs-; 
His  pleasure  guides  me,  and  his  will  confines ; 
And  here  I  stay  (if  such  his  high  behest), 
While  life's  warm  spirit  beats  within  my  breast 
Yet  hear  one  word,  and  lodge  it  in  thy  heart : 
No  more  molest  me  on  Atrides'  part: 
Is  it  for  him  these  tears  are  taught  to  flow, 
For  him  these  sorrows  ?  for  my  mortal  foe  ? 
A  generous  friendship  no  cold  medium  knows, 
Burns  with  one  love,  with  one  resentment  glows ; 
One  should  our  interests  and  our  passions  be ; 
My  friend  must  hate  the  man  that  injures  me. 
Do  this,  my  Phoenix,  'tis  a  generous  part ; 
And  share  my  realms,  my  honors,  and  my  heart. 
Let  these  return:  our  voyage  or  our  stay, 
Rest  undetermin'd  'till  the  dawning  day. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   GODS. 

"While  yet  the  gods  stood  distant,  and  forbore 

To  mix  with  mortal  men,  so  long  the  Greeks 

Gloried  that  their  Achilles  once  again 

Appeared  amongst  them,  who  had  long  forgone 

Distressful  war  ;  the  Trojans  panic-struck 

Shook  every  limb,  when  thus  before  their  eyes 

They  saw  the  son  of  Peleus,  fleet  of  foot, 

Shining  in  arms,  like  Mars  the  scourge  of  men. 

But  when  th'  Olympian  habitants  came  down 

Into  the  throng  of  men,  strife  fierce  uprose, 

Stirring  the  people's  hearts.     Minerva  stood 

Beside  the  deepeu'd  trench,  without  the  wall, 

And  shouted  :   and  anon  upon  the  sands, 

"Where  dash'd  the  roaring  waves  her  shout  was  heard. 

Far  distant,  like  a  gloomy  whirlwind,  Mars 

Stood  on  Troy's  highest  turret,  and  exclaimed, 

Cheering  the  Trojans  on  with  cries  of  war ; 

Or  running  with  swift  feet  cours'd  Simois'  banks, 

And  steep  Callicolone.     So  the  blest 

Of  heaven  mix'd  indiscriminate  the  hosts, 

Spurring  their  rage,  and  havoc  rang'd  it  wide. 

The  Father  of  the  Deities  and  men 

Thunder'd  from  heaven  on  high.     The  ocean  God 

Heav'd  from  beneath  the  immensity  of  earth, 

And  shook  the  mountain-tops.     The  roots  of  Ide 

And  all  its  fountain-gushing  summits  reeled ; 

Troy  city  and  the  navy  of  the  Greeks 

Rock'd  as  in  earthquake.     Deep  beneath  the  ground 


920A.C.]  HOMER.  61 

The  Monarch  of  the  dead  in  darkest  hell 

Felt  fear,  and  leap'd  affrighted  from  his  throne, 

And  shriek'd  aloud,  lest  he  that  shakes  the  shores 

Should  cleave  earth's  vault  asunder,  and  the  scene  « 

Of  those  drear  mansions  glare  upon  the  sight 

Of  gods  and  men :  a  dismal  wilderness, 

Hoary  with  desolation,  which  the  blest 

Behold,  and  shuddering  turn  their  eyes  away. 

Such  clang  arose  while  gods  encountering  strove. 


ACHILLES   GOING  FORTH  TO   BATTLE. 

They  from  their  rapid  ships  were  pour'd  along, 

As  the  cold  snow-flakes  from  the  height  of  air 

Fly  hovering  thick,  driven  by  the  frosty  gust 

Of  the  north  wind,  so  thickening  from  the  ships 

Throng'd  beamy -dazzling  helms,  and  bossy  shields, 

And  concave  breast  plates  strong,  and  ashen  spears. 

The  splendor  flashed  against  the  sky  ;  wide  laughed 

The  circling  plain  with  light'ning  gleams  of  brass ; 

And  hollow  the  reverberated  sound 

Rose  from  the  tramp  of  men.     Amidst  them  all, 

Buckling  his  armor,  brave  Achilles  stood : 

A  gnashing  sound  came  from  his  grinding  teeth ; 

His  eyes  were  like  the  glare  of  fire;   his  heart 

With  anguish  past  endurance  rose  and  fell. 

So  with  the  Trojans  wroth,  he  sheathed  his  limbs 

In  that  same  armor  which  a  goddess  gave 

And  Vulcan's  craft  had  wrought.     Aro*und  his  legs 

He  fastened  first  the  greaves  that  elegant 

Were  clasp'd  with  clasps  of  silver  ;   on  his  breast 

He  drew  the  cuirass;   o'er  his  shoulders  high 

He  slung  the  brazen  silver-studded  sword ; 

Then  grasp'd  the  vast  and  solid  shield,  whose  gleam 

Shone  distant  like  the  moon.     As  when  at  sea, 

The  glitter  of  a  blazing  fire  far  off 

Appears  to  mariners  ;   it  burning  glows 

High  on  the  mountains  in  some  lonely  cote ; 

But  them  the  driving  tempests  hurry  back 

Far  from  their  friends,  amidst  the  fishy  seas ; 

So  from  Achilles'  chased  and  burnish'd  shield, 

The  splendor  glanced  in  air.     He  lifted  then 

The  weighty  casque,  and  placed  it  on  his  head. 

The  crested  helm  shone  glist'ning  like  a  star  ; 

The  gilded  hair  which  Vulcan  on  the  cone 

Thick-waving  hung,  with  rustling  motion  shook, 

And  nodded  as  he  stepp'd.     Achilles  proved 

His  armor ;   poising  every  limb  to  feel 

If  the  bright  gift  were  fitted  to  his  frame. 

Wings  seem'd  to  lift  him  and  upbear  from  earth 

The  leader  of  his  host.     Then  forth  he  drew 


62  HOMER.  [LECT.  II. 

From  his  own  armory  his  father's  spear, 
Ponderous,  and  huge,  and  strong:  no  other  Greek 
Could  wield  it;    but  Achilles's  arm  alone 
Brandish'd  the  Pelian  ash :   from  Pelion's  brow 
The  Centaur  Chiron  for  his  father  fell'd 
The  lofty  tree,  that  it  might  prove  the  death 
Of  heroes.     Alcimus,  Automedon, 
Tending  the  coursers,  harness'd  them,  affix'd 
Their  gorgeous  headstalls,  fitted  in  their  jaws 
The  bits,  and  to  the  strong-cemented  car, 
Drawn  backward,  stretched  the  reins.     Automedou 
Then  grasped  the  pliant  scourge  of  burnish'd  thong, 
And  sprang  above  the  steeds.     Behind  in  arms 
Achilles  mounted,  shining  all  in  mail 
Like  the  high-rolling  sun.     Then  with  a  shout 
Thus  sternly  chid  the  coursers  of  his  sire : 
1  Xanthus  and  Balius !  colts  of  noble  strain  ! 
Sprung  from  Podarges !    take  ye  now  more  heed, 
And  bring  your  charioteer  in  safety  back 
Into  the  host  of  Greece,  when  we  of  war 
Have  had  our  fill ;   nor  leave  me  on  the  field 
Dead,  as  ye  left  Patroclus.'     Then  replied 
The  fleet-hoof 'd  Xanthus  from  the  chariot-yoke, 
Low  bowing  down  his  head,  while  all  his  mane 
From  the  neck-collar  loosed  without  the  yoke 
Trail'd  till  it  swept  the  ground;   for  Juno  then, 
The  snowy-arm'd,  endued  him  with  a  voice : 
'  Yes,  we  will  now  at  least  preserve  thee  safe, 
Valiant  Achilles !   but  thy  deathful  day 
Is  near  at  hand ;  nor  are  thy  steeds  the  cause ; 
But  a  great  god,  and  the  strong  hand  of  Fate. 
Not  through  our  tardy  sluggishness  of  pace 
The  Trojans  from  Patroclus'  shoulders  rent 
His  armor ;   but  that  mightiest  god,  the  son 
Of  beauteous-hair'd  Latona,  midst  the  van 
Slew  him,  that  Hector  might  be  glorified. 
Though  with  the  west  wind  we  should  scour  the  plain, 
*  Fleetest  of  gales,  yet  thou  too  art  decreed 
To  perish  by  a  hero  and  a  god.' 

When  he  had  spoken  thus  the  Furies  stopp'd 
His  vocal  utterance.     Much  disturb'd,  replied 
The  fleet  of  foot  Achilles :   '  Wherefore  thus, 
Xanthus,  foretellest  thou  my  death  ?   for  thee 
It  ill  beseems.     I  know  my  destiny : 
Fate  hath  decreed  that  I  shall  perish  here 
Far  from  my  sire,  and  her  who  gave  me  birth; 
But  not  for  this  will  I  refrain  my  hand, 
'Till,  to  the  full  of  slaughter,  I  have  chased 
These  Trojans  from  the  field!'      He  said,  and  urged 
His  steeds,  and  with  a  shout  rush'd  to  the  van. 


920A.C/1  HOMER.  63 


THE  SUIT  OF  PRIAM. 

As  when  a  wretch  (who,  conscious  of  his  crime, 
Pursu'd  for  murder,  flies  his  native  clime) 
Just  gains  some  frontier,  breathless,  pale,  amaz'dl 
All  gaze,  all  wonder:   thus  Achilles  gaz'cl; 
Thus  stood  th'  attendants  stupid  with  surprise ; 
All  mute,  yet  seem  to  question  with .  their  eyes ; 
Each  look'd  on  other,  none  the ,  silence  broke, 
Till  thus  at  last  the  kingly  suppliant  spoke: 

Ah  think,  thou  favor'd  of  the  powers  divine! 
Think  of  thy  father's  age,  and  pity  mine! 
In  me,  that  father's  reverend  image  trace, 
Those  silver  hairs,  that  venerable  face; 
His  trembling  limbs,  his  helpless  person,  see ! 
In  all  my  equal,  but  in  misery  ! 
Yet  now,  perhaps,  some  turn  of  human  fate 
Expels  him  helpless  from  his  peaceful  state; 
Think,  from  some  powerful  foe  thou  seest  him  fly, 
And  beg  protection  with  a  feeble  cry. 
Yet  still  one  comfort  in  his  soul  may  rise ; 
He  hears  his  son  still  lives  to  glad  his  eyes ; 
And  hearing,  still  may  hope  a  better  day 
May  send  him  thee,  to  chase  that  foe  away. 
No  comfort  to  my  griefs,  no  hopes  remain, 
The  best,  the  bravest  of  my  sons  are  slain ! 
Yet  what  a  race,  ere  Greece  to  Ilion  came, 
The  pledge  of  many  a  lov'd  and  loving  dame  1 
Nineteen  one  mother  bore — Dead,  all  are  dead  1 
How  oft,  alas  !  has  wretched  Priam  bled ! 
Still  one  was  left,  their  loss  to  recompense : 
His  father's  hope,  his  country's  last  defence. 
Him  too  thy  rage  has  slain !  beneath  thy  steel 
Unhappy  in  his  country's  cause  he  fell ! 
For  him,  through  hostile  camps  I  bend  my  way, 
For  him  thus  prostrate  at  thy  feet  I  lay ; 
Large  gifts  proportion'd  to  thy  wrath  I  bear ; 
Oh  hear  the  wretched,  and  the  gods  revere  1 
Think  of  thy  father,  and  this  face  behold  1 
See  him  in  me,  as  helpless  and  as  old, 
Though  not  so  wretched :  there  he  yields  to  me, 
The  first  of  men  in  sovereign  misery ! 
Thus  forced  to  kneel,  thus  grovelling  to  embrace 
The  scourge  and  ruin  of  my  realm  and  race ; 
Suppliant  my  children's  murderer  to  implore, 
And  kiss  those  hands  yet  reeking  with  their  gore  I 

These  words  soft  pity  in  the  chief  inspire, 
Touch'd  with  the  dear  remembrance  of  his  sire. 
Then  with  his  hand  (as  prostrate  still  he  fey) 
The  old  man's  cheek  he  gently  turn'd  away. 
Now  each  by  turns  indulged  the  gush  of  woe ; 
And  now  the  mingled  tides  together  flow : 


64  HOMER.  [LECT.IL 

This  low  on  earth,  that  gently  bending  o'er, 

A  father  one,  and  one  a  son  deplore  : 

But  great  Achilles  different  passions  rend, 

And  now  his  sire  he  mourns,  and  now  his  friend. 

Th'  infectious  softness  through  the  heroes  ran  ; 

One  universal  solemn  shower  began  ; 

They  bore  as  heroes,  but  they  felt  as  men. 

Satiate  at  length  with  unavailing  woes, 

From  the  high  throne  divine  Achilles  rose; 

The  reverend  monarch  by  the  hand  he  rais'd ; 

On  his  white  beard  ^and  form  majestic  gaz'd,  . 

Not  unrelenting ;  then  serene  began 

With  words  to  suit  the  miserable  man. 

Alas  !    what  weight  of  anguish  hast  thou  known ! 
Unhappy  prince !   thus  guardless  and  alone 
To  pass  through  foes,  and  thus  undaunted  face 
The  man  whose  fury  has  destroy'd  thy  race  ! 
Heaven  sure  has  arm'd  thee  with  a  heart  of  steel, 
A  strength  proportion'd  to  the  woes  you  feel. 
Rise  then  :   let  reason  mitigate  your  care ; 
To  mourn  avails  not ;   man  is  born  to  bear. 
Such  is,  alas  !   the  god's  severe  decree ; 
They,  only  they,  are  blest,  and  only  free. 
Two  urns  by  Jove's  high  throne  have  ever  stood, 
The  source  of  evil  one,  and  one  of  good; 
From  thence  the  cup  of  mortal  man  he  fills, 
Blessings  to  these,  to  those  distributes  ills ; 
To  most  he  mingles  both.     The  wretch  decreed 
To  taste  the  bad,  unmix't,  is  curst  indeed; 
Pursued  by  wrongs,  by  meagre  famine  driven, 
He  wanders,  out-cast  both  of  earth  and  heaven. 
The  happiest  taste  not  happiness  sincere, 
But  find  the  cordial  draught  is  dash'd  with  care. 
*  *  *  *  *  *  •* 

And  since  the  god  his  hand  has  pleas'd  to  turn, 
And  fill  thy  measures  from  his  bitter  urn, 
What  sees  the  son,  but  hapless  heroes'  falls  1 
War  and  the  blood  of  men  surround  thy  walls  ! 
What  must  be,  must  be.     Bear  thy  lot,  nor  shed 
These  unavailing  sorrows  o'er  the  dead  ; 
Thou  canst  not  call  him  from  the  Stygian  shore, 
But  thou,  alas !   may'st  live,  to  suffer  more  1 

To  whom  the  king :   oh  favor'd  of  the  skies ! 
Here  let  me  grow  to  earth !   since  Hector  lies 
On  the  bare  beach  depriv'd  of  obsequies. 
Oh  give  me  Hector  !   to  my  eyes  restore 
His  corse,  and  take  the  gifts :   I  ask  no  more. 
Then,  as  thou  may'st,  these  boundless  stores  enjoy ; 
Safe  may'st  thou  sail,  and  turn  thy  wrath  from  Troy ! 
So  shall  thy  pity  and  forbearance  give 
A  weak  old  man  to  see  the  light  and  live ! 

Move  me  no  more  (Achilles  thus  replies, 
While  kindling  anger  sparkle  in  his  eyes) ; 


920A.C.]  HOMER.  65 

Nor  seek  by  tears  my  steady  soul  to  bend; 
To  yield  thy  Hector  I  myself  intend: 
For  know,  from  Jove  my  goddess-mother  came 
(Old  Ocean's  daughter,  silver-footed  dame) ; 
Nor  com'st  thou  but  by  Heaven ;  nor  com'st  alone, 
Some  god  impels  with  courage  not  thy  own : 
No  human  hand  the  weighty  gates  unbarr'd, 
Nor  could-  the  boldest  of  our  youth  have  dar'd 
To  pass  our  outworks,  or  elude  the  guard. 
Cease ;  lest,  neglectful  of  high  Jove's  command 
I  show  thee,  king  1    thou  tread'st  pn  hostile  land ; 
Release  my  knees,  thy  suppliant  arts  give  o'er, 
And  shake  the  purpose  of  my  soul  no  more. 

The  sire  obey'd  him,  trembling  and  o'eraw'd, 
Achilles,  like  a  lion,  rush'd  abroad ; . 
Automedon  and  Alcimus  attend 
(Whom  most  he  honor'd  since  he  lost  his  friend); 
These  to  unyoke  the  mules  and  horses  went, 
And  led  the  hoary  herald  to  the  tent: 
Two  splendid  mantles  and  a  carpet  spread, 
They  leave  to  cover  and  enwrap  the  dead. 
Then  call 'the  handmaids,  with  assistant  toil 
To  wash  the  body,  and  anoint  witli  oil, 
Apart  from  Priam;   lest  th'  unhappy  sire, 
Provok'd  to  passion,  once  more  rouse  to  ire 
The  stern  Pelides;  and  nor  sacred  age* 
Nor  Jove's  command  should  check  the  rising  rage. 
This  done,  the  garments  o'er  the  corse  they  spread: 
Achilles  lifts  it  to  the  funeral  bed ; 
Then  while  the  body  on  the  car  they  laid, 
He  groans  and  calls  on  lov'd  Patroclus'  shade. 
If  in  that  gloom  which  never  light  must  know, 
The  deeds  of  mortals  touch  the  ghosts  below; 
O  friend !   forgive  me,  that  I  thus  fulfil 
(Restoring  Hector)  Heaven's  unquestion'd  will. 


THE  GROT  OF  CALYPSO. 

FROM  THE  ODYSSEY. 

He  spoke.     The  god  who  mounts  the  winged  winds 
Fast  to  his  feet  the  golden  pinions  binds, 
That  high  through  fields  of  air  his  flight  sustain 
O'er  the  wide  earth,  and  o'er  the  boundless  main. 
He  grasps  the  wand  that  causes  sleep  to  fly, 
Or  in  soft  slumber  seals  the  wakeful  eye : 
Then  shoots  from  heaven  to  high  Pieria's  steep, 
And  stoops  incumbent  on  the  rolling  deep. 
Thus  o'er  the  world  of  waters  Hermes  flew, 
Till  now  the  distant  island  rose  in  view: 
Then  swift  ascending  from  the  azure  wave, 
He. took  the  path  that  winded  to  the  cave. 
5 


66  HOMER.  [LECT.IL 

Large  was  the  grot,  in  which  the  nymph  he  found 
(The  fair-hair'd  nymph  with  every  beauty  crown'd). 
She  sate  and  sang;   the  rocks  resound  her  lays: 
The  cave  was  brightend  with  a  rising  blaze : 
Cedar  and  frankincense,  an  odorous  pile, 
Flam'd  on  the  hearth,  and  wide  perfum'd  the  isle ; 
While  she  with  work  and  song  the  time  divides; 
And  through  the  loom  the  golden  shuttle  guides. 
Without  the  grot  a  vicious  sylvan  scene 
Appear'd  around,  and  groves  of  living  green; 
Poplars  and  alders  ever  quivering  play'd, 
And  nodding  cypress  formed  a  fragrant  shade; 
On  whose  high  branches,  waving  with  the  storm, 
The  birds  of  broadest  wing  their  mansions  form, 
The  chough,  the. sea-mew,  the  loquacious  crow, 
And  scream  aloft,  and  skim  the  deeps  below. 
Depending  vines  the  shelving  cavern  screen, 
With  purple  clusters  blushing  through  the  green. 
Four  limpid  fountains  from  the  cliffs  distil; 
And  every  fountain  pours  a  several  rill, 
In  mazy  windings  wandering  down  the  hill, 
Where  blooming  meads  with  vivid  greens  were  crown'd 
And  glowing  violets  threw  odors  round. 
A  scene,  where  if  a  god  should  cast  his  sight, 
A  god  might  gaze,  and  wander  with  delight ! 
Joy  touch'd  the  messenger  of  heaven:  he  stay'd 
Entranc'd,  and  all  the  blissful  h:\unts  survey'd. 
Him,  entering  in  the  cave,  Calypso  knew; 
For  powers  celestial  to  each  other's  view 
Stand  still  confest,  though  distant  far  they  lie 
To  habitants  of  earth,  or  sea,  or  sky. 
But  sad  Ulysses,  by  himself  apart, 

•  Pour'd  the  big  sorrows  of  his  swelling  heart; 

All  on  the  lonely  shore  he  sate  to  weep, 
And  roll'd  his  eyes  around  the  restless  deep ; 
Tow'rd  his  lov'd  coast  he  roll'd  his  eyes  in  vain, 
Till  dimm'd  with  rising  grief,  they  stream'd  again, 

Now  graceful  seated  on  her  shining  throne, 
To  Hermes  thus  the  nymph  divine  begun : 

God  of  the  golden  wand !   on  what  behest 
Arriv'st  thou  here  an  unexpected  guest  ? 
Lov'd  as  thou  art,  thy  free  injunctions  lay ; 
Tis  mine,  with  joy  and  duty  to  obey. 
Till  now  a  stranger,  in  a  happy  hour 
Approach,  and  taste  the  dainties  of  my  bower. 

Thus  having  spoke,  the  nymph  the  table  spread 
(Ambrosial  cates,  with  nectar  rosy-red) ; 
Hermes  the  hospitable  rite  partook, 
Divine  refection!   then,  recruited,  spoke: 

What  mov'd  this  journey  from  my  native  sky, 
A  goddess  asks,  nor  can  a  god  deny; 


920  A.C.]  HOMER. 

Hear  then  the  truth.     By  mighty  Jove's  command 

Unwilling  have  I  trod  this  pleasing  land  ; 

For  who,  self-mov'd,  with  weary  wing  would  sweep 

Such  length  of  ocean  and  unmeasur'd  deep : 

A  world  of  waters  !   far  from  all  the  ways 

Where  men  frequent,  or  sacred  altars  blaze? 

But  to  Jove's  will  submission  we  must  pay ; 

What  power  so  great  to  dare  to  disobey  ? 

A  man,  he  says,  a  man  resides  with  thee, 

Of  all  his  kind  most  worn  with  misery ; 

The  Greeks,  (whose  arms  for  nine  long  years  employ'd 

Their  force  on  Ilion,  in  the  tenth  destroy'd) 

At  length  embarking  in  a  luckless  hour, 

With  conquest  proud,  iucens'd  Minerva's  power : 

Hence  on  the  guilty  race  her  vengeance  huii'd 

With  storms  pursued  them  through  the  liquid  world. 

There  all  his  vessels  sunk  beneath  the  wave  ! 

There  all  his  dear  companions  found  their  grave  ! 

Sav'd  from  the  jaws  of  death  by  heaven's  decree, 

The  tempest  drove  him  to  these  shores  and  thee. 

Him,  Jove  now  orders  to  his  native  lands 

Straight  to  dismiss ;   so  destiny  commands : 

Impatient  fate  his  near  return  attends, 

And  calls  him  to  his  country,  and  his  friends. 

Ev'n  to  her  inmost  soul  the  goddess  shook ; 
Then  thus  her  anguish  and  her  passion  broke: 

Ungracious  gods !   with  spite  and  envy  curst 
Still  to  your  own  ether ial  race  the  worst ! 
Ye  envy  mortal  and  immortal  joy, 
And  love,  the  only  sweet  of  life,  destroy. 
Did  ever  goddess  by  her  charms  engage 
A  favor'd  mortal,  and  not  feel  your  rage  ? 
So  when  Aurora  sought  Orion's  love, 
Her  joys  disturb'd  your  blissful  hours  above, 
Till,  in  Ortygia,  Dian's  winged  dart 
Had  piere'd  the  hapless  hunter  to  the  heart. 
So  when  the  covert  of  the  thrice-ear'd  field 
Saw  stately  Ceres  to  her  passion  yield, 
Scarce  could  lasion  taste  her  heavenly  charms, 
But  Jove's  swift  lightning  scorch'd  him  in  her  arms. 
And  is  it  now  my  turn,  ye  mighty  powers  1 
Am  I  the  envy  of  your  blissful  bowers  ? 
A  man,  an  outcast  to  the  storm  and  wave, 
It  was  my  crime  to  pity,  and  to  save ; 
When  he  whose  thunders  rent  his  bark  in  twain, 
And  sunk  his  brave  companions  in  the  main 
Alone,  abandon'd,  in  mid  ocean  tost, 
The  sport  of  -winds,  and  driven  from  every  coast, 
Hither  this  man  of  misery  I  led, 
Received  the  friendless,  and  the  hungry  fed; 
Nay  promis'd  (vainly  promis'd  !)  to  bestow 
Immortal  life,  except  from  age  and  woe. 


68  HOMER.  [LECT.  II. 

Tis  past — and  Jove  decrees  lie  shall  remove ; 
Gods  as  we  are,  we  are  but  slaves  to  Jove. 
Go  then  he  may  (he  must,  if  he  ordain, 
Try  all  those  dangers,  all  those  deeps,  again) : 
But  never,  never  shall  Calypso  send 
To  toils  like  these  her  husband  and  her  friend. 
.     What  ships  have  I,  what  sailors  to  convey, 
What  oars  to  cut  the  long  laborious  way  ? 
Yet  I'll  direct  the  safest  means  to  go; 
That  last  advice  is  all  I  can  bestow. 

To  her  the  power  who  bears  the  charming  rod: 
Dismiss  the  man,  nor  irritate  the  god ; 
Prevent  the  rage  of  him  who  reigns  above, 
For  what  so  dreadful  as  the  wrath  of  Jove  ? 
Thus  having  said,  he  cut  the  cleaving  sky, 
And  in  a  moment  vanish'd  from  her  eye. 
The  nymph,  obedient  to  divine  command, 
To  seek  Ulysses  pac'd  along  the  sand. 
Him  pensive  on  the  lonely  beach  she  found, 
With  streaming  eyes  in  briny  torrents  drown'd, 
And  inly  pining  for  his  native  shore; 
•  For  now  the  soft  enchantress  pleas'd  no  more: 

For  now,  reluctant,  and  constrain' d  by  charms, 
Absent  he  lay  in  her  desiring  arms, 
In  slumber  wore  the  heavy  night  away, 
On  rocks  and  shores  consum'd  the  tedious  day; 
There  sate  all  desolate,  and  sigh'd  alone, 
With  echoing  sorrows  made  the  mountains  groan, 
And  roll'd  his  eyes  o'er  all  the  restless  main, 
Till,  dimm'd  with  rising  grief,  they  stream'd  agaia 


Knlun  tju  CJjirft. 


HESIOD.  —  TYRT^EUS.  —  ARCHILOCHUS.  —  TERPANDER.  —  ALCMAN. 
STESICHORUS.  —  ALC^EUS.  —  ^ESOP.  —  SOLON. 


HESIOD,  a  contemporary  of  Homer,  was  born,  according  to  the  best 
authority,  907  A.C.  His  father  was  a  native  of  Cuinae,  an  .ZEolian 
island,  but  want  of  success  in  his  calling,  whatever  that  may  have  been, 
induced  him  to  remove  to  Ascra,  in  Bocotia,  a  small  village  at  the  base  of 
Mount  Helicon.  Here  Hesiod  was  born,  and,  from  the  poverty  of  his 
family,  was  brought  up  to  the  occupation  of  a  shepherd,  and  tended,  in 
his  boyhood,  the  flocks  of  a  neighboring  herdman  near  Mount  Helicon. 
With  this  condition  he,  however,  soon  became  dissatisfied ;  and  musing, 
as  he  himself  tells  us,  upon  the  severity  of  his  fate,  while  seated  near  the 
mountain's  base,  the  Muses  descended,  held  free  converse  with  him, 
and  invited  him  to  enter  into  their  service.  This  incident  he  relates  in 
the  following  verses  : — 

Erewhile  as  they  the  shepherd  swain  behold, 
Feeding  beneath  the  sacred  mount  his  fold, 
With  love  of  charming  song  his  breast  they  fired; 
There  me  the  Heavenly  Muses  first  inspired ; 
There  when  the  Maids  of  Jove  the  silence  broke 
To  Hesiod  thus  the  Shepherd  swain  they  spoke. — 

To  this  incident  Ovid,  the  Roman  poet,  evidently  alludes  in  the  fol- 
lowing lines : — 

Nor  Clio,  nor  her  sisters,  have  I  seen, 

As  Hesiod  saw  them  on  the  Ascraean  green. 

At  the  death  of  his  father,  which  probably  occurred  soon  after,  Hesiod 
became  a  priest  in  the  temple  of  the  Muses,  a  small  paternal  estate  was 
left  to  be  equally  divided  between  Hesiod  and  his  brother  Perses.  Perses 
was,  however,  cold  and  selfish  in  disposition,  forming  a  remarkable  con- 
trast to  the  warmth  and  fervor  of  his  brother's  nature ;  and  in  order  to 
appropriate  the  entire  property  to  his  own  purposes,  he  corrupted  the 


70  HESIOD.  [LECT.  III. 

judges  who  were  appointed  to  divide  it,  and  by  this  means  effected  his 
purpose.  Hesiod  soon  became  informed  of  this  circumstance  ;  but,  in- 
stead of  reproaching  his  brother,  as  would  have  been  natural,  for  the 
baseness  of  his  conduct,  he  addressed  one  of  his  finest  poetic  strains  to 
him,  in  which  he  set  forth,  with  great  clearness  and  force,  the  vanity  of 
riches  when  obtained  at  the  sacrifice  of  honor  and  virtue. 

The  next  incident  of  importance  in  the  life  of  Hesiod,  is  the  con- 
test between  him  and  Homer  for  a  poetic  prize.  The  occasion  which 
elicited  this  contest  was  as  follows  : — Archidamus,  king  of  the  island  of 
Eubosa,  had  early  instituted  games  and  festivals  to  be  annually  observed 
in  Chalcis,  the  capital  of  his  kingdom.  These  ceremonies  were  for  many 
years  regularly  sustained  by  his  sons  and  successors.  On  one  of  these 
occasions  Homer  and  Hesiod  met  at  the  court  of  Chalcis,  and  -the  poetic 
prize  contended  for  was  a  Tripod.  The  judges  who  presided  on  the  occa- 
sion decided  in  favor  of  Hesiod,  and  in  joyful  exultation  the  Ascreean  bard 
immediately  dedicated  the  Tripod  to  the  Muses,  placing  upon  it  the  fol- 
ing  inscription : — 

This  Hesiod  vows  to  th'  Heliconian  Nine, 
In  Chalcis  won  from  Horner  the  divine. 

This  incident  is  found  in  every  account  the  ancients  have  left  us  of  the 
life  of  Hesiod ;  but  it  is  proper  to  remark  that  its  correctness  has  often 
been  questioned ;  and  doubts  have  even  existed  whether  Homer  and  He- 
siod ever  met  each  other.  Cicero  explicity  declares  that  they  were  not 
even  contemporaries.  But  Plutarch,  on  the  contrary,  relates,  in  his  life 
of  Philip  of  Macedon,  a  dispute  which  occurred  between  that  prince  and 
his  son  Alexander,  on  this  subject;  and  says  that  while  Philip  contended 
that  the  decision  of  the  judges  in  favor  of  Hesiod  was  sufficient  evidence 
of  his  superiority  on  this  occasion,  Alexander  replied  that  the  judges  were 
swains  and  not  kings,  and  therefore  not  capable  of  appreciating  Homer's 
poetry. 

In  the  service  of  the  Muses  Hesiod  passed  his  life  to  a  very  advanced 
age,  and  finally  retired  to  Locris,  a  town  situated  relatively  to  Mount 
Parnassus  as  Ascra  had  been  to  Mount  Helicon.  Here,  after  passing  a 
few  years  in  retirement  and  repose,  at  the  residence  of  a  friend,  he  was 
accidentally  murdered,  on  a  mistaken  report  that  he  had  been  identified 
with  an  act  of  baseness  of  which  his  friend  had  unfortunately  been  guilty ; 
and  Solon,  the  distinguished  Athenian  lawgiver,  relates,  that  his  body, 
immediately  after  his  death,  was  contemptuously  thrown  into  the  adjacent 
sea,  there  to  perish  without  the  observance  of  funeral  rites.  Plutarch, 
however,  relates  that  the  body  of  Hesiod  was  conveyed  to  the  shore  by  a 
dolphin,  and  was  afterwards  discovered  through  the  sagacity  of  the  vener- 
able poet's  dog,  and  decently  buried  by  the  inhabitants  of  Orchomenos, 
a  town  in  Bosotia,  with  the  following  epitaph  over  his  tomb : — 


90YA.C.]  HESIOD.  71 

The  fallow  vales  of  Ascra  gave  him  birth: 
His  bones  are  cover'd  by  thetMinyan  earth: 
Supreme  in  Hellas  Hesiod's  glories  rise, 
Whom  men  discern  by  wisdom's  touchstone  wise. 

Among  the  Greek  Inscriptions  is  an  epitaph  on  Hesiod,  with  the  name 
of  Alcaeus,  which  has  the  air  of  being  a  genuine  ancient  production,  from 
its  breathing  the  beautiful  classic  simplicity  of  the  old  Grecian  school : 

Nymphs  in  their  founts  midst  Locris'  woodland  gloom, 
Laved  Hesiod's  corse,  and  piled  his  grassy  tomb: 
The  shepherds  there  the  yellow  honey  shed. 
And  milk  of  goats  was  sprinkled  o'er  his  head  : 
With  voice  so  sweetly  breathed  that  sage  would  sing, 
Who  sippfcd  pure  drops  from  every  Muse's  spring. 

The  undisputed  works  of  Hesiod  are  the  Works  and  Days,  the  Theog- 
ony,  and  the  Shield  of  Hercules.  The  subject  of  the  '  Works  and  Days' 
is  entirely  agricultural,  and  in  the  opening  of  the  poem,  the  different  ages 
of  the  world  are  described  with  peculiar  force  and  beauty.  The  story 
of  Pandora's  Box  is  here  told  with  greater  elegance  than  by  any  other 
poet  of  antiquity.  This  story  is  followed  by  a  description  of  the  five  dif- 
ferent ages  into  which  the  ancient  poets  were  fond  of  fancying  the  history 
of  the  world  to  be  divided.  The  first  age  was  the  age  of  gold.  It  em- 
braced the  reign  of  Saturn,  and  its  brilliancy  and  glory  were  appropriately 
typified  by  the  precious  metal  selected  to  represent  it.  The  second  age 
was  the  age  of  silver,  embracing  the  period  that  commenced  with  the 
assumption  of  supreme  power  by  Jupiter,  and  continued  as  long  as  that 
august  Deity  held  the  throne  of  heaven.  The  third  age  was  the  age  of 
brass.  This  age  occupied  the  space  intervening  between  the  supreme  rule 
of  Jupiter,  and  the  age  of  demigods  and  heroes.  The  glory  of  the  former 
periods  of  the  world  had  now  passed  away,  but  still  the  remembrance  of 
that  glory  was  carefully  preserved.  The  fourth  age  was  the  age  of  demi- 
gods and  heroes,  and  was  known  amongst  the  Greek  poets  as  the  heroic 
age.  The  fifth  and  last  age  was  the  iron  age,  in  which  the  poet,  in  'the 
following  lines,  pathetically  and  beautifully  laments  that  it  was  his  own 
hard  fortune  to  live. 

.  Oh  would  that  nature  had  denied  me  birth 
Midst  this  fifth  race,  this  iron  age  of  earth; 
That  long  before  within  the  grave  I  lay, 
Or  long  hereafter  could  behold  the  day. 

The  didactic  lessons  which  the  <  Works  and  Days'  contains,  were  re- 
garded by  the  ancients  as  of  so  great  importance,  that  the  poem  was,  for 
ages,  used  throughout  Greece,  for  purposes  of  recitation  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  moral  instruction  in  their  seats  of  learning.  Hence,  in  estimat- 


72  HESIOD.  [LECT.IIL 

ing  the  character  of  Hesiod,  we  must  separate  those  superstitions  which 
belong  to  traditionary  mythology,  from  the  system  of  opinions  which  re- 
spected the  guidance  of  human  life ;  the  accountableness  of  nations  and 
individuals  to  a  heavenly  judge ;  and  the  principles  of  public  equity  and 
popular  justice  which  he  derived  from  the  national  institutions.  If  we 
examine  the  '  Works  and  Days'  in  this  view  of  its  tendency  and  spirit, 
we  shall  find  abundant  cause  for  admiration  and  respect  of  a  man,  who, 
born  and  nurtured  in  the  lap  of  heathen  superstition,  could  shadow  out  the 
maxims  of  truth  in  such  beautiful  allegories,  and  recommend  the  practice 
of  virtue  in  such  powerful  and  affecting  appeals  to  the  conscience  and  the 
reason.  It  was  from  this  work  of  Hesiod  that  Virgil,  the  Roman  poet, 
borrowed  the  entire  outline  of  his  Georgics. 

'The  Theogony'  is  a  history  and  genealogy  of  the  Grecian  gods,  em- 
bracing the  vast  number  of  thirty  thousand.  The  early  part  of  this 
poem  is  tedious  and  uninteresting ;  but  in  the  latter  part,  where  the  gods 
are  arrayed  in  battle  against  each  other,  the  sublimity  approximates  to 
some  of  the  most  spirited  passages  of  Homer,  and  doubtless  afforded  to 
Milton  important  hints  for  his  battles  of  the  angels  in  Paradise  Lost. 
But  the  genius  of  Hesiod,  though  of  a  high  order,  was  far  inferior  to  that 
of  Homer.  His  observations  throughout  the  '  Works  and  Days,'  are  of 
a  practical  kind,  and  are  generally  very  sensible,  and  many  of  them  even 
beautiful ;  but  he  wanted  the  thrilling  and  creative  power,  and  also  the 
deep  pathos  of  the  great  Ionian  bard.  In  the  '  Theogony,'  after  the 
minute  catalogue  of  the  Grecian  gods  is  ended,  we  find  some  few  passages, 
as  already  observed,  that  indicated  very  considerable  power ;  but  in  jus- 
tice to  Hesiod  it  should,  perhaps,  be  observed,  that  there  is  in  the  subject 
of  his  poem  little  beyond  his  celestial  contests  to. call  forth  that  vast  and 
vivid  power,  which  the  subject  of  the  Iliad  of  Homer  naturally  and  con- 
stantly elicited. 

We  shall  close  our  remarks  upon  this  ancient  poet  with  the  description 
of  the  Creation  of  Pandora,  Dispensations  of  Providence  to  the  Just  and 
Unjust,  and  the  Battle  of  the  Giants. 


CREATION  OF   PANDORA. 

FROM    THE   WORKS    AND    DAYS. 

The  food  of  man  in  deep  concealment  lies, 
The  angry  gods  have  veil'd  it  from  our  eyes. 
Else  had  one  day  bestow'd  sufficient  cheer, 
And  though  inactive  fed  thee  through  the  year. 
Then  might  thy  hand  have  laid  the  rudder  by, 
In  black'ning  smoke  forever  hung  on  high ; 
Then  had  the  laboring  ox  foregone  the  soil, 
And  patient  mules  had  found  reprieve  from  toil 


907  A.C.]  HESIOD.  73 

But  Jove  conceal'd  our  food,  incensed  at  heart, 

Since  mock'd  by  wise  Prometheus'  wily  art. 

Sore  ills  to  man  devised  the  Heavenly  Sire, 

And  hid  the  shining  element  of  fire. 

Prometheus,  then,  benevolent  of  soul, 

In  hollow  reed  the  spark  recovering  stole, 

Cheering  to  man,  and  mock'd  the  god  whose  gaze 

Serene  rejoices  in  the  lightning's  rays. 

'  Oh  son  of  Japhet !  with  indignant  heart 

Spake  the  cloud-gatherer ;  oh  unmatch'd  in  art  1 

Exultest  thou  in  this  the  flame  retriev'd, 

And  dost  thou  triumph  in  the  God  deceiv'd? 

But  thou,  with  the  posterity  of  man, 

Shalt  rue  the  fraud  whence  mightier  ills  began: 

I  will  send  evil  for  thy  stealthy  fire, 

An  ill  which  all  shall  love,  and  all  desire? 

The  Sire  who  rules  the  earth  and  sways  the  pole 
Had  said,  and  laughter  fill'd  his  secret  souL 
He  bade  the  crippled  god  his  best  obey, 
And  mould  with  tempering  water  plastic  clay; 
Imbreathe  the  human  voice  within  her  breast, 
With  firm-strung  nerves  th'  elastic  limbs  invest : 
Her  aspect  fair  as  goddesses  above, 
A  virgin's  likeness'with  the  brows  of  love. 
He  bade  Minerva  teach  the  skill  that  dyes 
The  web  with  colors  as  the  shuttle  flies : 
He  call'd;  the  magic  of  Love's  charming  queen 
To  breathe  around  a  witchery  of  mien: 
Then  plant  the  rankling  stings  of  keen  desire, 
And  cares  that  trick  the  limbs  with  prank'd  attire : 
Bade  Hermes  last  impart  the  craft  refined 
Of  thievish  manners  and  a  shameless  mind. 

He  gives  command,  th'  inferior  powers  obey, 
The  crippled  artist  moulds  the  temper'd  clay: 
A  maid's  coy  image  rose  at  Jove's  behest; 
Minerva  clasp'd  the  zone,  diffused  ihe  vest; 
Adored  Persuasion  and  the  Graces  young 
Her  taper 'd  limbs  with  golden  jewels  hung; 
Round  her  smooth  brow  the  beauteous-tressed  Hours 
A  garland  twined  of  Spring's  purpureal  flowers; 
The  whole  attire  Minerva's  graceful  art 
Disposed,  adjusted,  form'd  to  every  part ; 
And  last  the  winged  herald  of  thu  skies, 
Slayer  of  Argus,  gave  the  gift  of  lies ; 
Gave  trickish  manners,  honey'd  words  instill'd. 
As  he  that  rolls  the  deep'ning  thunder  will'd: 
Then  by  the  feather'd  messenger  of  Heaven, 
The  name  Pandora  to  the  maid  was  given : 
For  all  the  gods  conferr'd  a  gifted  grace 
To  crown  this  mischief  of  the  mortal  race. 

The  Sire  commands  the  winged  herald  bear 
The  finish'd  nymph,  th'  inextricable  snare : 


74  H  E  S  1 0  D .  [LECT.  III. 

To  Epimetheus  was  the  present  brought ; 
Prometheus'  warning  vanish'd  from  his  thought : 
That  he  disclaim  each  offering  from  the  skies, 
And  straight  restore,  lest  ill  to  men  arise. 
But  he  receiv'd,  and  conscious  knew  too  late 
Th'  insidious  gift,  and  felt  the  curse  of  fate. 

On  earth  of  yore  the  sons  of  men  abode 
From  evil  free  and  labor's  galling  load ; 
Free  from  diseases  that  with  racking  rage 
Precipitate  the  pale  decline  of  age. 
Now  swift  the  days  of  manhood  haste  away, 
And  misery's  pressure  turns  the  temples  gray. 
The  woman's  hands  an  ample  casket  bear : 
She  lifts  the  lid — she  scatters  ills  in  air. 
Hope  sole  remain'd  within,  nor  took  her  flight, 
Beneath  the  vessel's  verge  conceal'd  from  light : 
Or  ere  she  fled,  the  maid,  advised  by  Jove, 
Seal'd  fast  th'  unbroken  cell,  and  dropp'd  the  lid  above. 
Issued  the  rest  in  quick  dispersion  hurl'd, 
And  woes  innumerous  roam'd  the  breathing  world: 
With  ills  the  land  is  full,  with  ills  the  sea; 
Diseases  haunt  our  frail  humanity : 
Self-wandering  through  the  noon,  Jhe  night,  they  glide, 
Voiceless — a  voice  the  power  all-wife  denied : 
Know  then  this  awful  truth — it  is  not  given 
T'  elude  the  wisdom  of  omniscient  Heaven. 


DISPENSATIONS  OF  PROVIDENCE  TO  THE  JUST  AND  THE  UNJUST. 

With  crooked  judgments,  lo !  the  oath's  dread  God 
Avenging  runs  and  tracks  them  where  they  trod. 
Rough  are  the  ways  of  justice  as  the  sea, 
•        Dragg'd  to  and  fro  by  men's  corrupt  decree : 

Bribe-pamper'd  men !  whose  hands  perverting  draw 
The  right  aside  and  warp  the  wrested  law. 
Though,  while  corruption  on  their  sentence  waits, 
They  thrust  pale  Justice  from  their  haughty  gates ; 
Invisible  their  steps  the  Virgin  treads, 
And  musters  evils  o'er  their  sinful  heads. 
She  with  the  dark  of  air  her  form  arrays, 
And  walks  in  awful  grief  the  city  ways ; 
Her  wail  is  heard,  her  tear  upbraiding  falls 
O'er  their  stain'd  manners,  their  devoted  walls. 
But  they  who  never  from  the  right  have  stray'd, 
Who  as  the  citizen  the  stranger  aid ; 
They  and  their  cities  flourish ;  genial  Peace 
Dwells  in  their  borders,  and  their  youth  increase ; 
Nor  Jove,  whose  radiant  eyes  behold  afar         * 
Hangs  forth  in  heaven  the  signs  of  grievous  war, 
Nor  dearth  nor  scath  the  upright  just  pursues ; 
Feasts  all  their  care ;  while  earth  abundance  strews. 


907  A.C.]  HESIOD.  75 

Rich  are  their  mountain  oaks  ;  the  topmost  tree 

The  acorns  fill ;  its  trunk  the  hiving  bee : 

Their  sheep  with  fleeces  pant :  their  women's  race 

Reflect  both  parents  in  the  infant  face : 

Still  flourish  they,  nor  tempt  with  ships  the  main 

The  fruits  of  earth  are  pour'd  from  every  plain. 

But  o'er  the  wicked  race,  to  whom  belong 
The  thought  of  evil  and  the  deed  of  wrong, 
Saturnian  Jove,  of   wide-beholding  eyes, 
Bids  the  dark  signs  .of  retribution  rise  : 
And  oft  the  crimes  of  one  destructive  fall, 
The  crimes  of  one  are  visited  on  all. 
The  God  sends  down  his  angry  plagues  from  high, 
Famine  and  pestilence ;  in  heaps  they  die : 
He  smites  with  barrenness  the  marriage  bed, 
And  generations  moulder  with  the  dead : 
Again  in  vengeance  of  his  wrath  he  falls 
On  their  great  hosts,  and  breaks  their  tottering  walls  : 
Scatters  their  ships  of  war ;  and  where  the  sea 
Heaves  high  its  mountain  billows,  there  is  he. 

Ponder,  oh  judges  !  in  your  inmost  thought 
The  retribution  by  his  vengeance  wrought. 
Invisible  the  gods  are  ever  nigh, 
Pass  through  the  midst  and  bend  th'  all-seeing  eye: 
The  men  who  grind  the  poor,  who  wrest  the  right, 
Awless  of  Heaven's  revenge,  are  naked  to  their  sight. 
For  thrice  ten  thousand  holy  demons  rove 
This  breathing  world,  the  delegates  of  Jove. 
Guardians  of  man,  their  glance  alike  surveys 
The  upright  judgments,  and  th'  unrighteous  ways. 
A  virgin  pure  is  Justice,  and  her  birth 
August  from  him,  who  rules  the  heavens  and  earth: 
A  creature  glorious  to  the  gods  on  high, 
Whose  mansion  is  yon  everlasting  sky. 
Driven  by  despiteful  wrong  she  takes  her  seat, 
In  lowly  grief,  at  Jove's  eternal  feet. 
There  of  the  soul  unjust  her  plaints  ascend ; 
So  rue  the  nations  when  their  kings  offend : 
When,  uttering  wiles  and  brooding  thoughts  of  ill, 
They  bend  their  laws  and  wrest  them  to  their  wilL 
Oh  !  gorged  with  gold,  ye  kiugly  judges,  hear ! 
Make  straight  your  path ;  your  crooked  judgments  fear ; 
That  the  foul  record  may  no  more  be  seen, 
Erased,  forgotten,  as  it  ne'er  had  been  ! 


BATTLE  OF  THE  GIANTS. 

« 
FROM   THE    THEOGONY. 

All  on  that  day  stirr'd  up  th'  enormous  strife, 
Female  and  male ;  Titanic  gods,  and  sons 
And  daughters  of  old  Saturn  ;  and  that  band 
Of  giant  brethren,  whom  from  forth  th'  abyss 


76  HESIOD.  [LECT.  Ill 

j 

Of  darkness  under  earth  deliverer  Jove 

Sent  up  to  light :  grim  forms  and  strong  with  force 

Gigantic ;  arms  of  hundred-handed  gripe 

Burst  from  their  shoulders ;  fifty  heads    upsprang 

Cresting  their  muscular  limbs.     They  thus  opposed 

In  dismal  conflict  'gainst  the  Titan  stood, 

In  all  their  sinewy  hands  wielding  aloft 

Precipitous  rocks.     On  th'  other  side  alert 

The  Titan  phalanx  closed ;  then  hands  of  strength 

Join'd  prowess,  and  show'd  forth  the  works  of  war. 

Th'  immeasurable  sea  tremendous  dash'd 

With  roaring,  earth-resounded,  the  broad  Heaven 

Groan'd  shattering;   huge  Olympus  reel'd  throughout 

Down  to  its  rooted  baee  beneath  the  rush 

Of  those  immortals.     The  dark  chasm  of  hell 

Was  shaken  with  the  trembling,  with  the  tramp 

Of  hollow  footsteps  and  strong  battle-strokes, 

And  measureless  uproar  of  wild  pursuit. 

So  they  against  each  other  through  the  air 

Hurl'd  intermix'd  their  weapons,  scattering  groans 

Where'er  they  fell.      The  voice  of  armies  rose 

With  rallying  shout  through  their  starr'd  firmament, 

And  with  a  mighty  war-cry  both  the  hosts 

Encountering  closed.      Nor  longer  then  did  Jove 

Curb  down  his  force,  but  sudden  in  his  soul 

There  grew  dilated  strength,  and  it  was  fill'd 

With  his  omnipotence;   his  whole  of  might 

Broke  from  him,  and  the  godhead  rush'd  abroad. 

The  vaulted  sky,  the  mount  Olympus,  flash'd 

With  his  continual  presence,  for  he  pass'd 

Incessant  forth  and  lighten'd  where  he  trod. 

Thrown  from  his  nervous  grasp  the  lightnings  flew 

Reiterated  swift,  the  whirling  flash 

Cast  sacred  splendor,  and  the  thunderbolt 

Fell.     Then  on  every  side  the  foodful  earth 

Roar'd  in  the  burning  flame,  and  far  and  near 

The  trackless  depth  of  forests  crashed  with  fire. 

Yea  the  broad  earth  burn'd  red,  the  floods  of  Nile 

Glow'd,  and  the  desert  waters  of  the  sea. 

Round  and  around  the  Titan's  earthly  forms 

Roll'd  the  hot  vapor,  and  on  fiery  surge 

Stream'd  upward  swathing  in  one  boundless  blaze 

The  purer  air  of  heaven.      Keen  rush'd  the  light 

In  quivering  splendor  from  the  writhen  flash ; 

Strong  though  they  were,  intolerable  smote 

Their  orbs  of  sight,  and  with  bedirnming  glare  , 

Scorch'd  up  their  blasted  vis^m.     Through  the  gulf 

Of  yawning  Chaos  the  supernal  flame 

Spread  miugling  fire  with  darkness.     But  to  see 

With  human  eye%  and  hear  with  ear  of  man, 

Had  been  as  on  a  time  the  heaven  and  earth 

Met  hurtling  in  mid-air,  as  nether  earth 


684  A.C.]  TYRTSEUS.  7*7 

Crash'd  from  the  centre,  and  the  wreck  of  heaven 

Fell  ruining  from  high.     Not  less  when  gods 

Grappled  with  gods,  the  shout  and  clang  of  arms 

Commingled,  and  the  tumult  roar'd  from  heaven. 

The  whirlwinds  were  abroad,  and  hollow  arous'd 

A  shaking  and  a  gathering  dark  of  dust, 

Crushing  the  thunders  from  the  clouds  of  air, 

Hot  thunderbolts  and  flames,  the  fiery  darts 

Of  Jove;  and  in  the  midst  of  either  host 

They  bore  upon  their  blast  the  cry  confused 

Of  battle,  and  the  shouting.     For  the  din 

Tumultuous  of  that  sight-appalling  strife 

Rose  without  bound.     Stern  strength  of  hardy  proof 

Wreak'd  there  its  deeds  till  weary  sank  the  war. 

After  the  death  of  Homer  and  Hesiod,  more  than  two  centuries  elapsed 
before  Greece  produced  another  poet  whose  genius  was  sufficiently  ele- 
vated to  preserve  his  name  from  oblivion ;  and  the  poet  whom  we  are 
next  to  notice  would  not,  perhaps,  now  be  known  to  literature,  were  it  not 
for  the  important  incident  in  Grecian  history  with  which  he  is  identified. 

Tyrtseus,  the  poet  to  whom  we  here  allude,  was  a  native  of  Miletus, 
in  Ionia,  and  was  born  in  that  city  684  A.C.  Of  his  family,  and  of  the 
incidents  of  his  early  life,  we  have  little  knowledge,  farther  than  that  he 
early  devoted  himself  to  music  and  poetry  as  a  profession,  and  was  an 
instructor  of  youth  in  their  preparatory  studies  for  the  chorus  used  in 
religious  worship,  and  in  other  sacred  ceremonies.  His  ambition,-  how- 
ever, soon  led  him  to  aspire  to  a  more  elevated  position  and  a  more  ex- 
tended celebrity  than  could  be  attained  in  his  native  place ;  and  he  there- 
fore removed  to  Athens,  and  there  established  himself  in  his  profession. 

Tyrtseus  had  resided  in  Athens  but  a  comparatively  short  time  before 
the  freedom  of  the  city  was  conferred  upon  him,  together  with  all  the 
privileges  and  immunities  of  citizenship.  To  this  the  honorableness  of 
his  profession,  and  the  respect  in  which  it  was  held,  greatly  contrib- 
uted; for  instructors  were  always  regarded  by  the  Athenians  as  public 
benefactors.  As  an  Athenian  citizen,  Tyrtseus  frequently  bore  arms  in 
defence  of  his  country ;  and  it  is  probable  that  he  had  attained  some  con- 
siderable distinction  as  a  "soldier,  before  the  following  incident,  and  to 
which  we  have  already  alluded,  occurred  : — 

The  Spartans,  in  a  war  with  the  Messenians,  a  neighboring  State, 
though  at  fir st. successful,  were  at  length  reduced  to  so  great  extremity 
as  to  be  constrained  to  apply  to  the  Delphic  oracle,  in  order  to  ascertain 
the  cause  of  their  frequent  defeats,  or  to  inquire  in  what  manner  they 
might  become  successful.  The  oracle  replied  that  the  Messenians  would 
continue  to  triumph  till  the  Spartans  obtained  an  Athenian  general  to 
lead  their  armies.  The  Dorian  pride  of  Sparta  was  deeply  wounded  by 
a  response  from  the  oracle  so  humiliating  to  their  ancient  glory,  and  at 
the  same  time  so  complimentary  to  the  Hellenic  race  of  Athens.  There 


78  TYRTAEUS.  [LECT.  Ill 

was,  however,  no  alternative,  and  to  Athens  they  accordingly  sent,  in 
accordance  with  the  response  of  the  oracle,  for  a  commander.  The 
Athenians,  in  compliance  with  their  request,  sent  them,  it  is  said  in  deri- 
sion, but  we  know  not  why,  the  poet  Tyrtaeus,  as  the  leader  of  their 
forces.  Tyrtaeus  found  the  Spartan  troops  entirely  dispirited ;  but  by 
the  animated  strains  of  his  martial  poetry,  he  soon  succeeded  in  rousing 
their  ancient  heroic  enthusiasm,  and  inspiring  them  with  the  highest  de- 
gree of  military  ardor :  the  poem  which  follows  is  represented  to  have 
mainly  contributed  to  the  production  of  this  effect.  But  whatever  may 
have  been  the  cause,  Tyrtaeus  had  been  at  the  head  of  the  Spartan  forces 
only  a  short  time  before  they  -became  everywhere  victorious,  and  in  the 
event  of  the  contest,  the  Messenians  were  reduced  to  absolute  submis- 
sion, and  to  unconditional  servitude.  Of  the  poem  to  which  we  here 
allude,  and  which  is  one  of  the  finest  War  Songs  ever  written,  the  fol- 
lowing is  a  very  faithful  translation  : — 


WAR  ELEGY. 

Not  on  the  lips,  nor  yet  in  memory's  trace 
Should  that  man  live,  though  rapid  in  the  race, 
And  firm  in  wrestling :   though  Cyclopean  might 
Be  his,  and  fleetness  like  a  whirlwind's  flight : 
Though  than  Tithonus  lovelier  to  behold; 
Like  Cynaras,  or  Midas,  graced  with  gold: 
Than  Pelop's  realm  more  kingly  his  domain; 
More  sweet  his  language  than  Adrastus'  strain; 
Not  though  he  boast  all  else  of  mortal  praise, 
Yet  waut  the.  glory  of  the  warrior's  bays. 
He  is  not  brave,  who  not  endures  the  sight 
Of  blood  ;  nor,  man  to  man,  in  closest  fight, 
Still  pants  to  press  the  foe:   here  bravery  lies; 
And  here  of  human  fame  the  chiefest  prize. 
This  noblest  badge  the  youth  of  honor  bears, 
And  this  the  brightest  ornament  he  wears. 
This,  as  a  common  good,  the  state  possess, 
And  a  whole  people  here,  their  safety  bless. 
Firm  and  unyielding,  when  the  armed  man 
Still  presses  on,  and  combats  in  the  van ; 
And  casts  the  thought  of  shameful  flight  away ; 
And  patient-daring,  to  the  perilous  fray 
Presents  his  life  and  soul;  and,  with  his  eye, 
And  voice,  exhorts  his  fellow-men  to  die, 
Here  is  the  warrior  found ;   this,  this  is  bravery. 
He  breaks  the  bristling  phalanx  from  afar  : 
His  foresight  rules  the  floating  wave  of  war ; 
Fallen  in  the  foremost  ranks,  he  leaves  a  name, 
His  father's  glory,  and  his  country's  fame. 
All  on  the  front  he  bears  full  many  a  wound 
That  rived  his  breast-plate  and  his  buckler's  round; 


660  A.C.]  ARCHILOCHUS.  79 

Old  men  and  youths  let  fall  the  sorrowing  tear, 
And  a  whole  people  mourns  around  his  bier. 
Fame  decks  his  tomb,  and  shall  his  children  grace, 
And  children's  children,  to  their  latest  race. 
For  ne'er  his  name,  his  generous  glory,  dies : 
Though  tomb'd  in  earth,  he  shall  immortal  rise ; 
Who  dared,  persisting,  in  the  field  remain, 
And  act  his  deeds,  till  number'd  with  the  slain  ? 
While  charging  thousands  rush'd,  resisting  stood, 
And  for  his  sons  and  country,  pour'd  his  blood. 
But  if,  escaping  the  long  sleep  of  death, 
He  wins  the  splendid  battle's  glorious  wreath ; 
Him,  with  fond  gaze,  gray  sires  and  youths  behold, 
And  life  is  pleasant,  till  his  days  are  old. 
Conspicuous  midst  the  citizens  he  wears 
The  silver  glory  of  his  snowy  hairs. 
None  'gainst  his  peace  conspire  with  shameless  hate, 
None  seek  to  wrong  the  saviour  of  the  State : 
The  younger,  and  his  equals,  reverent  rise  ^ 
His  elders  quit  their  seats,  with  honoring  eyes; 
Then  to  this  height  of  generous  deeds  aspire  ; 
And  let  the  soul  of  war  thy  patriot  bosom  fire. 

Archilochus,  the  G-recian  poet  who  follows  Tyrtseus,  was  born  in  the 
island  of  Paros,  660  A.C.  He  belonged  to  one  of  the  most  ancient 
and  honorable  families  of  that  island,  and  to  this  circumstance  much  of 
his  early  reputation  and  influence  are  to  be  attributed.  The  Parians 
being  a  people  of  great  enterprise  and  activity,  resolved  to  form  a  distant 
settlement  in  the  island  of  Thasos,  on  the  coast  of  Thrace.  To  secure 
the  protection  of  the  gods  of  their  country  in  this  enterprise,  they  com- 
missioned Telesicles,  the  father  of  Archilochus,  to  the  temple  of  Apollo, 
in  order  to  insure  the  protection  and  patronage  of  that  divinity.  The 
favor  of  the  god  was,  without  difficulty,  obtained,  and  the  expedition 
being  accordingly  undertaken,  it  proved  entirely  successful.  The  set- 
tlement having  been  formed,  it  became  necessary  there  to  institute  the 
Eleusinian  mysteries ;  and  for  this  purpose,  Tellis,  the  grandfather  of 
Archilochus  was  deputed  to  accompany  the  priestess  of  Ceres  thither. 

Archilochus  was,  in  the  meantime,  prosecuting  his  studies  in  his  native 
island,  and  had  scarcely  begun  to  distinguish  himself  as  a  poet  before  aid 
from  the  parent  country  was  required  by  their  distant  colony — the  colony 
having  attempted  to  form  a  settlement  on  the  adjacent  coast  of  Thrace. 
To  this  project  the  Thracians  objected,  and  they,  therefore,  determined 
to  expel  the  invaders  by  force.  Aid  being  consequently  sent  from  Paros 
to  their  assistance,  Archilochus  himself  accompanied  the  expedition ;  but 
in  the  first  onset  of  the  enemy  he  evinced  that  want  of  personal  courage 
which,  by  the  ancient  Greeks,  was  always  regarded  not  only  as  dishonor- 
able, but  in  the  highest  degree,  disgraceful.  He,  in  fact,  fled  from  the 
field  of  battle ;  and  that  his  shield  might  not  impede  his  flight,  he  cast  it 


80  ARCHILOCHUS.  [LEO r.  Ill 

from  him,  and  left  it  a  trophy  to  the  pursuing  enemy.  The  witty  poet 
did  not,  however,  intend  that  his  enemies  should  be  permitted  to  use  this 
incident  to  his  disadvantage,  and  therefore,  in  order  to  anticipate  the 
ridicule  they  might  heap  upon  him,  he  made  a  matter  of  amusement  of 
the  event  himself,  and  anticipated  an  expression  of  public  opinion  by  the 
composition  and  publication  of  the  following  verses  : 

Rejoice,  some  Saian,  who  my  shield  may  find, 
Which  in  some  hedge,  unhurt,  I  left  behind. 
Farewell  my  shield;  now  I  myself  am  free, 
I'll  buy  another,  full  as  good  as  thee. 

Before  Archilochus  set  out  on  the  expedition  to  Thasos,  he  had  formed 
a  prospective  matrimonial  alliance  with  Neobule,  the  daughter  of  Ly- 
cambes,  one  of  the  principal  citizens  of  Paros.  His  disgraceful  conduct, 
however,  on  the  field  of  battle  in  Thrace  had  already  become  known  at 
Paros ;  in  consequence  of  which,  Lycambes  not  only  refused  to  permit 
him  to  renew  his  suit  to  his  daughter,  but  Neobule  herself  declined  to 
hold  any  farther  intercourse  with  him.  The  dignity  of  the  family  of 
Archilochus,  and  the  personal  feelings  of  the  poet  himself,  were  so  out- 
raged by  this  event,  that  he  immediately  turned  the  bitter  invective  of 
his  poetic  satire  against  Lycambes  and  every  member  of  his  family. 
These  satires  were  written  in  Iambic  verse — a  measure  invented  by  the 
author  at  this  time,  and  one  peculiarly  adapted  to  satirical  purposes.  At 
first  the  satiric  strains  of  Archilochus  were  treated  lightly  both  by 
Lycambes  and  his  friends ;  but  the  poet  reiterated  his  attacks  so  con- 
stantly, and  with  such  increased  severity  on  every  successive  occasion, 
that  Lycambes  was  finally  driven  to  absolute  despair — and  in  order  to 
cover  his  mortification,  and  to  remove  himself  from  the  taunts  of  the 
friends  of  Archilochus,  he  violently  terminated  his  existence  by  suicide ; 
and  his  daughter  soon  after  followed  his  example. 

For  some  time  after  this  melancholy  event  occurred,  Archilochus  con- 
tinued at  Paros,  triumphing  in  his  victory,  and  caressed  by  his  friends, 
who  had  now  become  the  settled  opponents  of  the  party  of  Lycambes ; 
but  eventually  the  partisans  of  Lycambes  gained  the  ascendancy,  and  by 
a  public  decree  Archilochus  was  banished  from  his  ancestral  home 
Immediately  after  his  banishment  he  repaired  to  Thasos;  but  finding  no 
more  favor  there  than  he  had  found  at  Paros,  he  resolved  to  seek  shelter, 
protection,  and  even  patronage,  among  the  continental  States  of  Greece. 
Intelligence  of  his  infamous  cowardice  had,  however,  by  this  time,  spread 
throughout  the  whole  country;  and  accordingly,  wherever  he  made  his 
appearance,  he  was  not  only  shunned,  but  even  treated  with  contumely 
and  insult. 

Wandering  thus  for  many  years  from  State  to  State,  an  actual  outcast 
in  the  midst  of  his  countrymen,  he  finally  reached  the  city  of  Elis  just  at 
the  time  the  Olympic  games  were  to  be  celebrated  in  that  city ;  and  his 


660  A.C.]  ACHILOCHUS.  81 

pitiable  condition  immediately  excited  the  compassion  of  the  multitude 
assembled,  though  his  disgrace,  with  all  its  oflfensiveness,  still  attached 
closely  to  him.  He  had  the  good  fortune,  however,  so  far  to  ingratiate 
himself  with  the  judges  who  presided  at  the  games,  as  to  obtain  their 
permission  to  recite  an  ode  which  he  had  composed  in  honor  of  Hercules, 
There  were  many  other  poets  assembled  at  Elis  for  the  purpose  of  com- 
peting for  the  poetic  prize,  and  the  judges  therefore  considered  that  it 
would,  be  no  more  than  an  act  of  justice  to  Archilochus  to  allow  him, 
banished  and  disgraced  though  he  was,  to  enter  the  list  of  competitors, 
He  was  preceded  by  many  poets  of  eminence,  and  their  productions, 
being  of  a  high  order  of  merit,  received  the  just  applause  and  the  warm 
encomiums  of  the  judges  before  whom  they  were  produced ;  but  when 
Archilochus  appeared,  bearing  with  him  his  harp,  and  commenced  to 
.strike  its  strings  and  to  chant  forth  his  heavenly  numbers,  in  honor  of 
the  great  hero  in  whose  praise  they  were  written,  the  whole  assembly  was 
at  once  enchanted,  and,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  decreed  to  him 
the  highest  poetic  honor,  and  the  first  prize. 

The  occasion  upon  which  this  great  triumph  was  obtained  was  so 
public,  and  the  circumstances  were  so  imposing,  that  the  fame  of  the 
event  spread  even  more  rapidly  than  had  the  previous  intelligence  of 
Archilochus'  disgrace ;  and  the  people  of  Paros  hearing  of  the  signal 
victory  which  their  banished  poet  had  gained,  hastened  to  repair  the 
injury  which  they  had  inflicted  upon  him,  by  publicly  recalling  him  from 
•banishment.  But  his  heart's  anguish,  trial,  penury,  and  even  want 
itself,  had  preyed  so  long  upon  the  sensitive  feelings  of  the  great  poet, 
that  his  strength  Was  exhausted,  his  vital  energies  were  prostrated  ;  and 
he,  therefore,  when  the  intelligence  of  his  recall  from  banishment  reached 
him  at  Elis,  had  only  sufficient  power  left  to  enable  him  to  find  his  way 
to  his  home  just  in  time  to  mingle  his  ashes  with  those  of  his  ancestors. 
Thus,  by  a  fatality  frequently  attending  men  of  genius,  Archilochus 
passed  a  life  of  misery,  and  acquired  honor  only  after  his  death.  Re- 
proach, ignominy,  contempt,  poverty,  and  persecution,  were  the  ordinary 
companions  of  his  person ;  while  admiration,  glory,  respect,  splendor, 
and  even  magnificence,  were  the  melancholy  attendants  of  his  shade. 

The  genius  of  Archilochus  was  of  a  very  high  order  of  excellence.  He 
was  the  inventor,  as  we  have  already  observed,  of  satirical  poetry,  and 
the  measure  which  he  originated  at  the  time  of  this  invention,  has  ever 
since  been  regarded  the  most  effective,  as  well  as  the  most  elegant  vehicle 
for  poetic  communication  that  the  Greek  language  possessed.  To  the 
invention  of  this  order  of  versification  the  Roman  poet  Horace  alludes  in 
the  following  lines  : — 

Archilochus,  with  fierce  resentment  warmed, 
Was  with  his  own  severe  Iambics  armed. 
6 


82  ACHILOCHUS.  [LECT.  Ill 

We  are  not,  however,  to  infer  that  because  the  principal  poems  of  Ar- 
chilochus  were  satirical,  that  he  confined  himself  exclusively  to  that  order 
of  poetry ;  for  we  have  a  number  of  fragments  evidently  taken  from 
those  philosophical  poems  which  he  from  time  to  time  produced,  and  to 
which  his  contemporaries  so  frequently  allude,  that  are  of  the  highest 
order  of  merit.  Of  these  fragments  the  following  are  fair  samples  : — 


AN  EXHORTATION  TO   FORTITUDE   UNDER  CALAMITY. 

Groans  rise  on  griefs,  oh  Pericles  !   nor  they 

Who  feed  the  woe,  in  wine  or  feast  are  grey. 

The  billow  of  the  many  roaring  deep 

Has  borne  these  pleasures  in  its  whelming  sweep. 

Our  grief-swoll'n hearts,  now  draw  their  breath  in  pain; 

Yet  blessings,  oh  my  friend !  shall  smile  again. 

The  gods  reserve  for  seeming-cureless  woe 

A  balm,  and  antidotes  on  grief  bestow. 

In  turn  the  cure  and  suffering  take  their  round, 

And  we  now  groaning  feel  the  bleeding  wound : 

Now  other  breasts  the  shifting  tortures  know; 

Endure;  nor  droop  thus  womanish  in  woe. 


ON  AN  ECLIPSE  OF  THE  SUN. 

Naught,  now,  can  pass  belief;  in  Nature's  ways 
No  strange  anomaly  our  wonder  raise. 
Th'  Olympian  Father  hangs  a  noon-day  night 
O'er  the  sun's  disk,  and  veils  its  glittering  light. 
Fear  falls  on  man.     Hence  miracles  before 
Incredible,  are  counted  strange  no  more. 
Stand  not  amazed  if  beasts  exchange  the  wood 
With  dolphins;  and  exist  amidst  the  flood; 
These  the  firm  land  forsake  for  sounding  waves, 
And  those  find  pleasure  in  the  mountain  caves. 


EQUANIMITY. 

Spirit,  thou  Spirit,  like  a  troubled  sea, 
Ruffled  with  deep  and  hard  calamity, 
Sustain  the  shock :   a  daring  heart  oppose : 
Stand  firm,  amidst  the  charging  spears  of  foes: 
If  conquering,  vaunt  not  in  vain-glorious  show ; 
If  conquer'd,  stoop  not,  prostrated  in  woe: 
Moderate,  in  joy,  rejoice ;  in  sorrow,  mourn : 
Muse  on  man's  lot:   be  thine  discreetly  borne. 

The  same  thing  was  often  observed  by  the  ancients  of  the  poems  of 
Archilochus,  that  was  said  of  the  orations  of  Demosthenes  and  Cicero — 
that  the  longest  of  them  were  the  best.  His  '  Hymn  to  Hercules,'  of 


660A.C.  ARCHILOCHUS.  83 

which  we  have  already  spoken,  was  repeated  on  three  distinct  and  sepa- 
rate occasions  at  the  Olympic  Games — an  honor  which  no  other  Grecian 
poet  ever  enjoyed,  with,  perhaps,  the  single  exception  of  Pindar. 

The  following  brief  framents  will  close  our  notice  of  this  eminent 
but  unfortunate  poet. 


TWO  MILITARY   PORTRAITS. 

Boast  me  not  your  valiant  captain, 

Strutting  fierce  with  measur'd  stride, 
Glorying  in  his  well-trimm'd  beard,  and 

Wavy  ringlets'  clustered  pride. 
Mine  be  he  that's  short  of  stature, 

Firm  of  foot,  with  curved  knee ; 
Heart  of  oak  in  limb  and  feature, 

And  of  courage  bold  and  free. 


THE   STORM. 

Behold  my  Glaucus,  how  the  deep 
Heaves,  while  the  sweeping  billows  howl, 

And  round  the  promontory -steep 

The  big  black  clouds  portentous  scowl, 

With  thunder  fraught,  and  lightning's  glare, 

While  Terror  rules,  and  wild  Despair. 

THE  MIND  OF  MAN. 

The  mind  of  man  is  such  as  Jove 

Ordains  by  his  immortal  will; 

,  Who  moulds  it,  in  the  courts  above, 

His  heavenly  purpose  to  fulfil. 

LIFE  AND  DEATH. 

Jove  sits  in- highest  heaven,  and  opes  the  springs, 

To  man,  of  monstrous  and  forbidden  things. 

Death  seals  the  fountains  of  reward  and  fame : 

Man  dies,  and  leaves  no  guardian  of  his  name. 

Applause  awaits  us  only  while  we  live, 

While  we  can  honor  take,  and  honor  give :  t 

Yet  were  it  base  for  man  of  woman  born, 

To  mock  the  naked  .ghost  with  jests  or  scorn. 

The  contemporaries  of  Archilochus  were  Terpander,  Alcman,  and 
Stesichorus ;  and  these  were  followed  in  the  next  generation  by  Alcaeus, 
a  poet  of  far  greater  celebrity  than  either  of  his  immediate  predecessors. 

Terpander  was  the  originator  of  the  gay  and  festive  kinds  of  lyric 


84  ALCM  AN.— STESICHORUS.  [LECT.  Ill 

composition.  He  was  a  native  of  the  isle  of  Lesbos,  and  was  born  about 
665  A.C.  He  obtained  the  musical  prize  in  the  Carneah  festival  at 
Sparta,  and  soon  after  gained  five  successive  prizes  at  Delphi,  as  appeared 
by  a  correct  register  of  the  conquerors  in  the  Pythian  games,  preserved 
in  the  time  of  Plutarch.  These  triumphs  procured  for  him  the  respect 
of  his  contemporaries;  but  he  has  been  honored  by  posterity  chiefly  for 
his  improvement  of  the  lyre,  and  for  the  new  varieties  of  measure  which 
he  introduced  into  Grecian  poetry.  Unfortunately  his  poetry  has  all 
perished.  . 

Alcman  was  a  native  of  Sardis,  in  Asia  Minor,  and  was  born  about 
650  A.C.  Of  his  life  nothing  but  a  few  isolated  facts  has  been  preserved. 
His  Parthenia,  composed  in  honor  and  praise  of  woman,  and  sung  by 
choruses  of  virgins,  were  so  popular  among  the  Spartans  as  to  procure 
for  their  author  the  name  of  Sweet.  He  was  a  man  of  very  amorous 
nature,  was  the  earliest  writer  of  love  verses,  and  is  thought  to  have 
been  the  first  to  introduce  the  practice  of  singing  them  in  public.  So 
brief  fragments  only  of  his  poetry  have  been  preserved,  that  it  is  very 
difficult  to  form  any  correct  judgment  of  his  merits  as  a  writer.  The 
lines  addressed  to  Megalostrata,  one  of  his  mistresses,  and  the  fragment 
which  follows,  comprise  the  chief  of  his  remains. 

TO   MEGALOSTRATA 

Again  sweet  Love,  by  Venus  led, 

Hath  all  my  soul  possessed ; 
Again  delicious  rapture  shed 

In  torrents  o'er  my  breast. 
Now  Megalostrata,  the  fair, — 

Of  all  the  virgin  train 
Most  blessed — with  her  yellow  hair — 

Hath  brought  me  to  the  Muse's  fane. 

• 
A   FRAGMENT. 

The  mountain  summits  sleep,  glens,  cliffs,  and  caves, 
Are  silent ; — all  the  black  earth's  reptile  brood, 
The  bees,  the  wild  beasts  of  the  mountain  wood ; 

Its  depths  beneath  the   darkred   ocean's  waves 

In  monsters  rest ;  whilst  wrapt,  in  bower  and  spray, 
Each  bird  is  hush'd,  that  stretch'd  its  pinions  to  the  day. 

Stesichorus  was  a  native  of  the  island  of  Sicily,  and  was  born  at  Himera 
about  645  A.C.  His  name  was  originally  Tysias,  but  was  afterwards 
changed  into  Stesichorus,  because  he  was  the  first  who  taught  the  Chorus 
to  dance  to  the  lyre.  Hence,  from  their  origin,  the  Strophe,  Antistrophe, 
and.  Epode  of  the  Chorus  became  associated  throughout  Greece  with  his 


645A.C.]  STESICHORUS.  85 

name.  Being  a  man  of  high  rank,  and  eminent  for  his  wisdom,  he  ex- 
erted a  great  influence  over  his  fellow-citizens,  and  chiefly  contributed  to 
prevent  them  from  entering  into  an  alliance  with  the  tyrant  Phalaris. 
He  died  at  an  advanced  age,  at  Catana,  in  his  native  island ;  and  the 
inhabitants  of  that  city  were  so  sensible  of  the  honor  conferred  upon 
them  by  the  possession  of  his  remains,  that  they  would  not  permit  the 
Himerians,  under  any  circumstances,  to  remove  them  to  the  poet's  native 
place. 

Stesichorus  has  been  the  subject  of  the  most  extravagant  encomiums 
by  ancient  critics.  Majesty  and  grandeur  were,  in  their  estimation,  the 
prevailing  characteristics  of  his  style.  Horace  speaks  of  the  Graves 
Camcence  /  Alexander,  in  Dion  Chrysostom,  places  him  among  the  poets, 
whom  a  prince  ought  to  read ;  and  Synesias  puts  him  and  Homer  to- 
gether, as  the  noble  celebraters  of  the  heroic  race.  Quintilian,  too,  one 
of  the  ablest  critics  of  antiquity,  has  also  left  the  following  judgment  of 
this  poet's  works :  "  The  force  of  Stesichorus's  wit  appears  from  the 
subjects  he  has  treated  of;  while  he  sings  the  greatest  wars  and  the 
greatest  commanders,  and  sustains  with  his  lyre  all  the  might  and 
grandeur  of  an  epic  poem.  For  he  makes  his  heroes  speak  and  act 
agreeably  to  their  character ;  and  had  he  but  observed  moderation,  he 
would  have  appeared  the  fairest  rival  of  Homer.  But  he  is  too  exuber- 
ant, and  does  not  know  how  to  contain  himself, — which,  though  really  a 
fault,  yet  is  one  of  those  faults  which  arise  from  an  abundance  and  ex- 
cess of  genius. ?' 

The  principal  poems  of  Stersichorus,  were  the  Destruction  of  Troy, 
the  Orestea,  the  Rhadia,  the  Scylla,  and  the  Geryoneis.  Of  all  these 
works,  however,  nothing  but  a  few  scattered  fragments,  such  as  the  fol- 
lowing, havft  been  preserved  from  oblivion  : — 


THE   SACRIFICE   OF   TYNDARUS. 

For  -whereas  Tyndarus, 

Midst  all  his  rites  to  all  the  gods  above, 

Alone  forgot 

That  giver  of  sweet  gifts,  the  queen  of  Love, — 
Wroth  with  the  daughters  for  the  father's  sake, 

The  goddess  caused  them  straight, 
Thrice,  thrice  their  nuptial  bonds  to  break, 
And  each  desert  her  mate. 


VOYAGE   OF   THE   SUN". 

But  now  the  sun,  great  Hyperion's  child, 
Embarked  again  upon  his  golden  chalice, 

And  westward  steer'd,  where,  far  o'er  ocean  wild, 
Sleeps  the  dim  night,  in  solitary  valleys ; 


ALGOUS.  [LEOT.III. 


Where  dwell  his  mother  and  his  consort  mild, 

And  infant  sons,  in  his  sequestered  palace, 
Whilst  onward,  through  the  laurel-shaded  grove, 
Moved,  with  firm  step,  the  hero  son  of  Jove. 


THE    PROCESSION. 

Before  the  regal  chariot,  as  it  passed, 
Were  bright  Cydonian  apples  scattered  round, 

And  myrtle  leaves,  in  showers  of  fragrance  cast, 
And  many  a  wreath  was  there  with  roses  bound, 

And  many  a  coronal,  wherein  were  set, 

Like  gems,  rich  rows  of  purple  violet. 


A   FRAGMENT. 

Yain  it  is  for  those  to  weep 
Who  repose  in  death's  last  sleep. 
With  man's  life  ends  all  the  story    ' 
Of  his  wisdom,  wit,  and  glory. 

Alcseus  was  a  native  of  Mitylene,  in  the  island  of  Lesbos,  and  was  born 
620  A.C.  His  family  was  influential  and  powerful,  and  he  himself  early 
joined  Pittacus  and  others,  to  relieve  his  native  city  of  a  tyranny  under 
which  it  had  long  groaned.  Pittacus  afterwards  apostatised  from  the 
heroic  party,  and  in  the  event  of  th,e  struggle  that  followed,  placed  him- 
self at  the  head  of  the  government.  For  this  act  of  treachery  and  usurpa- 
tion he  was  bitterly  satirized  by  Alcgeus,  who  was,  in  consequence  of  his 
opposition  to  the  new  tyrant,  driven  into  exile.  Endeavoring  to  return 
by  force  of  arms,  but  being  unsuccessful,  he  fell  into  the  hands  of  his 
former  friend,  but  now  exasperated  conqueror,  who,  however,  instead  of 
punishing  him.  granted  him  his  liberty,  observing  that  forgiveness  was 
sweeter  than  revenge.  Pittacus  designed,  by  this  act  of  clemency,  to  win 
Alcseus  over  to  his  interest ;  but  the  inveterate  poet  still  continued  to  rail 
against  the  tyrant,  and  finally  ail  favor  was  withdrawn  from  him.  To 
this  circumstance  Ovid  alludes  in  the  following  lines  : — 

Or  may  thy  satire  too  severe  be  found, 

And  thrice,  like  poor  Alcseus  muse,  be  crown'd 

With  vengeance  from  the  hand  it  dares  to  wound. 

In  an  engagement  with  the  Athenians,  in  which  that  valiant  ^>tate  tri- 
umphed over  the  Lesbians,  Alcseus  was  present ;  and  as  soon  as  he  per- 
ceived that  the  contest  would  prove  adverse  to  his  own  party,  he  threw 
away  his  arms,  and  saved  himself  by  flight.  It  was,  however,  some  con- 
solation to  him  in  his  disgrace,  that  the  conqueror  ordered  his  arms  to  be 
hung  up  in  the  temple  of  Minerva,  at  Sigseuin. 


620  A.C.]  ALCSEUS.  87 

Alcseus  was  the  inventor  of  the  metre  which  bears  his  name,  and  his 
muse  embraced  every  variety  of  subject — the  praises  of  Bacchus  and 
Venus,  invectives  against  tyrants,  and  lamentations  on  the  evils  of  exile 
and  war.  His  poetical  abilities  must  have  been  of  a  very  high  order,  for 
all  antiquity  is  full  of  his  praises ;  but  unfortunately  a  few  fragments  only 
of  his  poetry  remain.  His  writings  were  chiefly  in  the  lyric  strain;  but 
his  muse  was  capable  of  treating  the  sublimest  subjects  with  suitable  dig- 
nity. Hence  Horace,  his  most  successful  imitator,  says : — 

Alcseus  strikes  the  golden  strings, 
And  seas,  and  war,  and  exile  siugs  ; 
Thus,  while  they  strike  the  various  lyre, 
The  ghosts  the  sacred  sounds  admire : 
But  when  Alcseus  lifts  the  strain 
To  deeds  of  war  and  tyrants  slain, 
In  thicker  crowds  the  shadowy  throng 
Drink  deeper  down  the  martial  song. 

The  following  songs  and  fragments,  embrace  everything  of  value  that 
time  has  spared,  of  this  ancient  and  venerated  bard : 

A  CONVIVIAL  SONG. 

"Why  wait  we  for  the  torches'  lights? 
Now  let  us  drink,  while  day  invites. 
In  mighty  flagons  hither  bring 

The  deep-red  blood  of  many  a  vine, 
That  we  may  largely  quaff,  and  sing 

The  praises  of  the  God  of  wine. 

The  son  of  Jove  and  Semele, 
Who  gave  the  jocund  grape  to  be 
A  sweet  oblivion  to  our  woes. 

Fill,  fill  the  goblet — one  and  two: 
Let  every  brimmer,  as  it  flows, 

In  sportive  chase,  the  last  pursue. 

A  CONVIVIAL  SONG. 

Jove  descends  in  sleet  and  snow, 

Howls  the  vexed  and  angry  deep ; 
Every  stream  forgets  to  flow, 

Bound  in  winter's  icy  sleep 
Ocean  wave  and  forest  hoar, 
To  the  blast  responsive  roar. 

Drive  the  tempest  from  your  door, 

Blaze  on  blaze,  your  hearthstone  piling, 

And  unmeasured  goblets  pour, 
Brimful  high  with  nectar  smiling. 

Then  beneath  your  poet's  head 

Be  a  downy  pillow  spread. 


88  ALGOUS. 


THE  STORM. 

"Now  here,  now  there,  the  wild  waves  sweep, 
Whils^  we,  betwixt  them,  o'er  the  deep, 

In  shatter'd  tempest-beaten  bark, 
With  laboring  ropes  are  onward  driven, 

The  billows  dashing  o'er  our  dark, 
Upheaved  deck — in  tatters  riven 

Our  sails — whose  yawning  rents  between 

The  raging  sea  and  sky  are  seen. 

****** 
Loose  from  their  hold  our  anchors  burst, 

And  then  the  third,  the  fatal  wave 
Comes  rolling  onward  like  the  first, 

And  doubles  all  our  toil  to  save. 


THE  POOR  FISHERMAN. 

The  fisher  Diotimus  had,  at  sea 

And  shore,  the  same  abode  of  poverty — 

His  trusty  boat; — and  when  his  days  were  spent, 

Therein  self-rowed    to  ruthless  Dis  he  went; 

For  that,  which  did  through  life  his  woes  beguile, 

Supplied  the  old  man  with  a  funeral  pile. 


POVERTY. 

The  worst  of  ills,  and  hardest  to  endure, 

Past  hope,  past  cure, 
Is  Penury,  who,  with  her  sister-mate 
Disorder,  soon  brings  down  the  loftiest  state. 

And  makes  it  desolate. 
This  truth  the  sage  of  Sparta  told, 

Aristodemus  old, — 

'Wealth  makes  the  man.'     On  him  that's  poor, 
Proud  worth  looks  down,  and  honor  shuts  the  door. 


THE  SPOILS  OF  WAR. 

Glitters  with  brass  my  mansion  wide  ; 
The  roof  is  deck'd  on  every  side, 

In  martial  pride, 

With  helmets  rang'd  in  order  bright, 
And  plumes  of  horse-hair  nodding  white, 

A  gallant  sight — 
Fit  ornament  for  warrior's  brow — 
And  round  the  walls  in  goodly  row, 

Refulgent  glow 


620  A.C.]  J3  SO  P.— SOLON.  89 

Stout  greaves  of  brass,  like  burnish'd  gold, 
And  corslets  there  in  many  a  fold 

Of  linen  roll'd : 

And  shields  that  in  the  battle  fray, 
The  routed  losers  of  the  day 

Have  cast  away. 
Euboaan  falchions  too  are  seen, 
With  rich-embroidered  belts  between 

Of  dazzling  sheen : 
And  gaudy  surcoats  piled  around, 
The  spoils  of  chiefs  in  war  renowned, 

May  there  be  found. 
These,  and  all  else  that  here  you  see, 
Are  fruits  of  glorious  victory, 

Achieved  by  me. 


THE   CONSTITUTION  OF  A  STATE. 

What  constitutes  a  State? 
Not  high-raised  battlement,  or  labored  mound, 

Thick  wall  or  moated  gate : 
Not  cities  fair,  with  spires  and  turrets  crown'd: 

No: — Men,  high-minded  men — 
With  powers  as  far  above  dull  brutes  endued 

In  forest,  brake,  or  den, 
As  beasts  excel  cold  rocks  and  brambles  rude — 

Men,  who  their  duties  know, 
But  know  their  rights,  and,  knowing,  dare  maintain; 

Prevent  the  long-aimed  blow, 
And  crush  the  tyrant,  while  they  rend  the  chain. 

With  the  following  brief  passages,  the  first  from  .ZEsop,  the  celebrated 
Fabulist,  and  the  others  from  Solon,  the  distinguished  Athenian  Law- 
giver, we  shall  close  our  present  remarks ;  but  as  these  eminent  writers 
belong  to  another  department  of  literature,  we  shall  not  here  dwell  upon 
the  incidents  of  their  lives.  Of  Solon's  poetical  genius  Plato,  the  great 
philosopher,  was  of  opinion  that,  had  he  seriously  applied  himself  to 
poetry,  neither  Hesiod,  nor  Homer,  nor  any  other  poet,  would  have  been 
more  celebrated. 


DEATH  THE  SOVEREIGN  REMEDY. 

AN    ELEGIAC. 

Who,  but  for  death,  could  find  repose 
From  life,  and  life's  unnumbered  woes  ? 
From  ills  that  mock  our  art  to  cure, 
As  hard  to  fly  as  to  endure? 
Whate'er  is  sweet  without  alloy, 
And  sheds  a  more  exalted  joy, 


90  ^ESOP.— SO  LOIS 

Yon  glorious  orb  that  gilds  the  day, 
Or  placid  moon,  thy  silver  ray, 
Earth,  sea,  whate'er  we  gaze  upon, 
Is  thine,  0  Nature,  thine  alone; 
But  gifts,  which  to  ourselves  we  owe, 
What  are  they  all,  but  fear  and  woe  ? 
Chance-pleasure,  hardly  worth  possessing, 
Ten  curses  for  a  single  blessing. 


JUSTICE. 

Short  are  the  triumphs  to  injustice  given, — 

Jove  sees  the  end  of  all ;  like  vapors  driven 

By  early  Spring's  impetuous  blast,  that  sweeps 

Along  the  billowy  surface  of  the  deeps, 

Or  passing  o'er  the  fields  of  tender  green, 

Lays  in  sad  ruin  all  the  lovely  scene, 

Till  it  reveals  the  clear  celestial  blue, 

And  gives  the  palace  of  the  gods  to  view; 

Then  bursts  the  sun's  full  radiance  from  the  skies, 

"Where  not  a  cloud  can  form  or  vapor  rise. 

Such  is  Jove's  vengeance:  not  like  human  ire, 

Blown  in  an  instant  to-  a  scorching  fire, 
But  slow  and  certain;   though  it  long  may  lie, 
Wrapt  in  the  vast  concealment  of  the  sky; 
Yet  never  does  the  dread  Avenger  sleep, 
And  though  the  sire  escape  the  son  shall  weep. 


A  FRAGMENT. 

The  man  who  boasts  of  golden  stores, 
Of  grain,  that  loads  his  groaning  floors, 
Of  fields  with  freshening  herbage  green, 
Where  bounding  steeds  and  herds  are  seen, 
I  call  not  happier  than  the  swain, 
Whose  limbs  are  sound,  whose  food  is  plain, 
Whose  joys  a  blooming  wife  endears, 
Whose  hours  a  smiling  offspring  cheers. 


REMEMBRANCE  AFTER  DEATH. 

Let  not  a  death,  unwept,  uuhonor'd,  be 
The  melancholy  fate  allotted  me  ! 
But  those  who  loved  me  living,  when  I  die, 
Still  fondly  keep  some  cherish' d  memory. 


Knlntt  tju 


SAPPHO.—  ERIN^A— MIMNERMUS.— IBYOUS.— THEOGNIS, 
ANACREOtf. 


IN  the  closing  part  of  the  last  lecture  our  attention  was  drawn  to  the 
immediate  predecessors  of  Sappho,  the  celebrated  poetess  of  Mitylene ; 
and  of  her  extraordinary  genius  Coleridge  observes  that, '  the  very  shreds 
remaining  of  her  works,  seem  enough  to  prove  her  the  greatest  of  lyric 
poets  after  Pindar.'  As  compared  with  Alcaeus,  Stesichorus,  and  the 
rest,  her  pre-eminence  in  every  lyric  quality,  is  incontestable ;  her  music, 
her  passion,  her  imagery,  her  truth,  are  all  transcendent ;  and,  after  read- 
ing what  exists  of  her,  we  can  never  think  of  the  other  poets  who  pre- 
ceded, or  were  coeval  with  her,  without  applying  to  them  her  own  beauti- 
ful stanza : — 

The  stars  that  round  the  beauteous  moon 

Attendant  wait,  cast  into  shade 
Their  ineffectual  lustres,  soou 

As  she  in  full-orbed  majesty  array'd, 
Her  silver  radiance  showers 
Upon  this  world  of  ours. 

These  Grecian  lyrists  were  all,  with  the  exception  of  Alcman  of  Sardis, 
and  Stesichorus  of  Hemira,  born  on  the  Asiatic  coast,  or  in  the  islands 
of  the  JEgean  sea.  'These  enchanting  climates,'  says  Dr.  Gillies,  the 
elegant  Grecian  historian,  '  were  the  best  adapted  to  inspire  the  raptures 
peculiar  to  the  ode,  as  well  as  to  excite  that  voluptuous  gayety  charac- 
teristic of  the  Grecian  song.'  Amidst  the  romantic  scenes  of  Ionia,  was 
felt  with  uncommon  sensibility,  the  force  of  that  pleasing,  painful  Pas- 
sion, which,  uniting  grief,  joy,  and  enthusiasm,  contains  the  fruitful  seeds 
of  whatever  is  most  perfect  in  music  and  poetry.  Here  Sappho  breathed 
the  amorous  flames  by  which  she  herself  was  eventually  consumed. 

Sappho,  incomparably  the  most  eminent  poetess  of  antiquity,  and  per- 
haps the  most  gifted  female  genius  of  any  age  or  country,  was  born  at 


92  SAPPHO.  [LECT.  IV. 

Mitylene,  in  the  island  of  Lesbos,  610  A.  C.  Of  her  parentage  little  is 
farther  known,  than  that  her  father's  name  was  Scamandronomus,  and 
her  mother's,  Cleis ;"  but  of  the  strength  of  her  intellect,  the  keenness 
of  her  wit,  and  the  splendor  of  her  genius,  she  very  early  gave  the  most 
unmistakable  evidence.  So  gifted  and  so  attractive,  she  soon  drew  about 
her  many  suitors,  among  whom  was  the  poet  Alcaeus,  already  noticed. 
Alcceus  seems  to  have  been  doubtful  of  the  success  of  his  suit,  and  though 
he  declared  that  his  passion  for  the  fair*  poetess  had  almost  consumed 
him,  yet  he  hesitated  to  place  himself,  by  any  open  declaration,  at  the 
mercy  of  her  sarcastic  wit.  A  favorable  opportunity,  however,  according 
to  Aristotle,  at  length  presented  itself,  and  he  ventured  to  intimate  his 
desire  in  the  following  couplet : — 

Fain  would  I  speak,  but  must,  through  shame,  conceal 
The  thought  my  eager  tongue  would  soon  reveal. 

To  this  address  Sappho  immediately  replied — 

Were  your  request,  O  bard  !  on  honor  built, 
Your  cheeks  would  not  have  worn  those  marks  of  guilt : 
But  in  prompt  words  the  ready  thoughts  had  flown, 
And  your  heart's  honest  meaning  quickly  shown. 

This  reply  so  disconcerted  Alcseus,  that  he  immediately  abandoned 
his  suit ;  but  Sappho  was  soon  after  married  to  Cercolas,  a  wealthy  in- 
habitant of  the  neighboring  island  of  Andros.  Thither  she  accordingly 
removed ;  but  she  had  soon  after  the  misfortune  to  lose  her  husband  by 
death  •  and  thus  left  in  early  widowhood,  she  at  once  returned  to  her  na- 
tive Lesbos  with  the  intention  of  resuming  her  residence  amid  the  scenes 
and  associations  of  her  early  life.  She  found,  however,  on  her  return  to 
Lesbos,  that  the  recent  changes  through  which  she  had  passed  had  cloth- 
ed every  source  of  early  association  with  attributes  so  gloomy,  that  a 
residence  at  Mitylene  had  no  longer  any  attractions  for  her ;  and  as 
Athens  had  just  fallen  under  the  rule  of  Pisistratus,  the  splendid  usurper 
of  its  government,  who,  in  order  to  reconcile  the  people  to  his  adminis- 
tration, held  out  every  encouragement  to  genius  and  learning,  she  re- 
solved to  remove  thither,  and  there  devote  her  time  to  literary  pursuits,  to 
the  refined,  and  even  the  voluptuous  enjoyments  of  that  court.  Maturity 
had  now  perfected  her  early  beauty,  and  strengthened  the  ardor  of  her 
affections ;  she  had  not,  therefore,  long  resided  at  Athens,  before  she  be- 
.caiqg  devotedly  attached  to  Phaon,  one  of  the  youthful  attendants  upon 
the  Athenian  court.  He,  however,  either  trifled  with  her  affections,  or  did 
not  reciprocate  her  passion ;  and,  in  order  to  be  relieved  from  her  impor- 
tunity, left  Athens,  and  retired  to  the  island  of  Sicily.  Thither  Sappho 
immediately  followed  him,  and  on  landing  upon  that  island,  she  breathed 
forth  that  magnificent  ode,  in  the  form  of  a  prayer  to  Venus,  which 
Longinus  carefully  preserved,  and  pronounced  one  of  the  finest  emana- 


610A.C.]  SAPPHO.  93 

tions  of  the  Grecian  lyric  muse.  Of  this  splendid  ode  we  venture  to  offer 
the  following  translation,  which,  though  containing  little  of  the  spirit 
and  fire  of  the  original,  is,  to  the  letter,  faithful. 


ODE  TO   VENUS. 

Venus !  immortal !   child  of  Jove ! 
Who  sitt'st  on^  painted  throne  above ; 
"Weaver  of  wiles !  oh,  let  not  Love 

Inflict  this  torturing  flame! 

But  haste;  if,  once,  my  passion's  cry 
Drew  thee  to  listen,  hasten  nigh ; 
From  golden  palaces  on  high 

Thy  harness'd  chariot  came. 

O'er  shadowy  earth,  before  my  sight, 
Thy  dainty  sparrows  wheel'd  their  flight; 
Their  balanced  wings,  in  ether's  light, 

Were  quivering  too  and  fro. 

The  birds  flew  back :  thou  blessed  queen ! 
Didst  smile  with  heavenly  brow  serene ; 
And  ask,  what  grief  the  cause  had  been, 
That  summon'd  thee  below  ? 

What  most  I  wished,  with  doating  mind: 
Whom  most  seductive,  I  would  bind 
In  amorous  nets ;   and, '  Who,  unkind, 

My  Sappho,  wrongs  thee  now  ?' 

'  The  fugitive  shall  turn  pursuer ; 

The  vainly  woo'd  shall  prove  the  wooer  : 

The  cold  shall  kneel  to  his  undoer, 

Though  she  disdain  his  vow.' 

Come  then,  now  !   come  once  again  ! 
Ease  my  bosom  of  its  pain ! 
Let  me  all  my  wish  obtain  ! 

Fight  my  battles  thou  ! 

Venus,  however,  proved  unpropitious  to  Sappho's  importunate  prayer, 
and  Phaon,  cold,  cruel,  and  relentless ;  and,  in  a  fit  of  desperation,  the 
phrenzied  poetess  hastened  to  Mount  Leucas,  a  promontory  on  the  coast 
of  Sicily,  and  thence,  according  to  the  tradition,  precipitated  herself  into 
the  sea. 

Perhaps  no  other  author  of  either  ancient  or  modern  times,  ever  en- 
joyed, during  life,  so  great  a  reputation  as  was  enjoyed  by  Sappho,  or  was 
so  highly  honored  after  death.  The  Mityleneans,  her  countrymen,  paid 
sovereign  honors  to  her  name,  bestowed  upon  her  the  appellation  of  the 
Tenth  Muse,  and  stamped  their  money  with  her  image ;  and  even  the 


94  SAPPHO.  [LKCT.IV. 

distant  Romans,  centuries  afterwards,  out  of  respect  to  her  memory, 
erected  and  inscribed  to  her  name,  a  magnificent  porphyry  statue.  In 
the  sweetness  of  her  numbers,  the  fervor  of  her  language,  the  splendor 
of  her  imagery,  and  the  condensed  power  of  her  expression,  she  was,  per- 
haps, by  none  of  her  countrymen  ever  excelled ;  and,  perhaps,  Pindar 
may  be  regarded  as  her  only  equal.  Her  verses,  it  is  true,  were  chiefly 
devoted  to  the  praises  of  the  tender  passion ;  but  she  did  not  regard  it 
as  a  voluptuous,  but  as  an  abstract,  ethereal,  elevated,  and  god-like  prin- 
ciple. In  reality,  most  of  the  detractions  from  Sappho's  merit  are  trace- 
able to  the  envy  of  those  Roman  poets  who  afterwards  in  vain  attempted, 
in  the  lyric  strain,  to  equal  her  fire  and  sublimity ;  and  for  this,  Ovid  is, 
perhaps,  more  deeply  censurable  than  any  other. 

Those  critics,  therefore,  who  regard  Sappho's  fragments  as  mere  love 
songs,  greatly  degrade  her  genius.  .  Her  strain  was  of  a  more  elevated 
and  commanding  kind — simple,  vehement,  rich  in  images,  and  sparkling 
in  words — her  poetry  was  the  poetry  of  impulse.  In  all  succeeding  poets 
who  have  written  on  love,  we  can  trace  the  wit  of  sentiment,  and  the 
finished  delicacy  of  art.  In  Sappho  we  have  a  total  unconsciousness  of 
effort ;  but  such  is  the  enthusiasm  of  her  sensations,  that  she  has  infused 
even  sublimity  into  the  softness  of  the  tender  passion.  Hence  Longinus, 
perhaps  the  most  discerning  critic  of  antiquity,  has  instanced  her  bold 
selection  and  association  of  circumstances,  in  the  emotion  of  violent  love, 
as  forming  the  true  sentimental  sublime. 

Besides  the  above  Ode  to  Venus,  we  shall  present  another  of  the  com- 
plete poems  of  this  inimitable  writer,  together  with  a  few  poetic  frag- 
ments; though  Phillips,  one  of  the  contemporaries  of  Addison,  has 
clothed  it  in  a  sweet  poetic  dress,  yet  we  venture  to.  present  the  following 
•translation  by  Elton,  as  better  suited  to  our  purpose.  The  poem  itself 
will  at  once  be  recognized,  as  it  has  long  been  before  the  public  in  the 
translation  which  we  have  already  mentioned  : 

TO  A   GIRL  BELOVED. 

That  man  is*  like  a  god  to  me 
Who,  sitting  face  to  f#ce  with  thee, 
Shall  hear  thee  sweetly  speak,  and  see 

Thy  laughter's  gentle  blandishing. 

'Tis  this  astounds  my  trembling  heart : 
I  see  thee,  lovely  as  thou  art : 
My  fluttering  words,  in  murmurs  start, 
My  broken  tongue  is  faltering. 

My  flushing  skin  the  fire  betrays 
That  through  my  blood  electric  strays : 
My  eyes  seem  darkening  as  I  gaze, 
My  ringing  ears  re-echoing. 


610  A.C.]  SAPPHO. 

Cold  from  my  forehead  glides  the  dew : 
A  shuddering  tremor  thrills  me  through 
My  cheek  a  green  and  yellow  hue : 

All  gasping,  dying,  languishing, 


95 


AN   ILLITERATE   WOMAN. 

Unknown,  unheeded,  shalt  thou  die, 
And  no  memorial  shall  proclaim, 

That  once,  beneath  the  upper  sky, 
Thou  hadst  a  being  aud  a  name. 

For  never  to  the  Muses'  bowers 

Didst  thou,  with  glowing  heart  repair, 

Nor  ever  intertwine  the  flowers, 

That  Fancy  strews  unnumbered  there. 

Doomed  o'er  that  dreary  realm,  alone 
And  shunned  by  gentler  shades,  to  go, 

Nor  friend  shall  soothe  nor  parent  own 
The  child  of  sloth,  the  Muses'  foe,. 


FRAGMENTS. 


The  moon  hath  sunk  beneath  the  sky : 
The  Pleiad  stars  withdraw  their  light: 

It  is  the  darkling  noon  of  night : 
The  hour,  the  hour  hath  glided  by, 

And  yet  alone,  alone  I  lie. 


Mother  !   sweet  mother  !    'tis  in  vain ; 

I  cannot  now  the  shuttle  throw : 
That  youth  is  in  my  heart  and  brain: 

And  Venus'  lingering  fires  within  me  glow. 

III. 

Venus,  come  !   forsake  the  sky 
For  this  our  banquet's  gaiety : 
Come — while  the  golden  beakers  gleam, 
The  nectar  mix  in  purple  stream  : 
Fill  to  these  gentle  friends  the  wine : 
Mine  awe  these,  and  these  are  mine. 

IV. 

I  have  a  child — a  lovely  child — 
In  beauty  like  the  golden  sun, 
Or  like  sweet  flowers,  of  earliest  bloom, 
And  Cleis  is  her  name : — for  whom 
I  Lydia's  treasures,  were  they  mine, 
Would  glad  resign. 


96  SAPPHO.  [LECT.  IV 

v. 

Gome  gentle  youth,  and  in  thy  flowing  locks 
With  delicate  fingers  weave  a  fragrant  crown 
Of  aromatic  anise;   for  the  gods 
Delight  in  flowery  wreaths,  nor  lend  an  ear 
Propitious  to  their  suit,  who  supplicate 
"With  brows  unbound  with  sweetly-smelling  flowers. 

VI. 

Cling  to  the  brave  and  good — the  base  disown 
Whose  best  of  fortunes  is  to  live  unknown. 

VII. 

Wealth  without  Virtue  is  a  dangerous  guest ; 
Who  holds  them  mingled  is  supremely  blest 

VIII. 

,  Beauty,  fair  flower,  upon  the  surface  lies ; 
But  Worth  with  Beauty  soon  in  aspect  vies. 

*  IX. 

When  dead,  thou  shalt  in  ashes  lie, 

Nor  live  in  human  memory: 

Nor  any  page  in  time  to  come 

Shall  draw  thee  from  thy  shroudless  tomb. 

For  thou  didst  never  pluck  the  rose 

That  on  Pieria's  mountain  grows : 

Dim  and  unseen  thy  feet  shall  tread 

The  shadowy  mansion  of  the  dead : 

Thee,  maiden  1   shall  no  eye  survey 

Start  from  the  obscurer  ghosts,  and  wing  thy  soaring  way, 

x. 

Did  Jove  a  queen  of  flowers  decree, 
The  rose  the  queen  of  flowers  should  be. 
Of  flowers  the  eye ;  of  plants  the  gem ; 
The  meadow's  blush ;   earth's  diadem : 
Glory  of  colors  on  the  gaze 
Lightening  in  its  beauty's  blaze : 
It  breathes  of  love :   it  blooms  the  guest 
Of  Venus'  ever  fragrant  breast : 
In  gaudy  pomp  its  petals  spread : 
Light  foliage  trembles  round  its  head : 
With  vermeil  blossoms  fresh  and  fau- 
lt laughs  to  the  voluptuous  air 


INSCRIPTIONS. 

This  dust  was  Timos :   ere  her  bridal  hour 

She  lies  in  Proserpina's  gloomy  bower: 

Her  virgin  playmates  from  their  lovely  head 

Clipt  with  sharp  steel  the  locks ;  the  strewments  of  the  dead. 


600  A.C.]  ERINNA.  97 

This  oar,  and  net,  and  fisher's  wicker'd  snare 

Themiscus  placed  above  his  buried  son : 
Memorials  of  the  lot  of  life  he  bare ;          * 

The  hard  and  needy  life  of  Pelagon. 

In  connection  with  the  distinguished  poetess  whom  we  have  just  no- 
ticed, we  shall  here  glance  at  one  of  her  contemporaries,  between  whom 
and  herself  the  utmost  warmth  of  affection  and  the  closest  intimacy  ex- 
isted. 

Erinna,  the  poetess  to  whom  we  here  allude,  was  a  native  of  Mitylene, 
the  birthplace  of  Sappho,  and  was  born  in  that  city,  600  A.C.  Of  her 
life  and  character  so  little  is  known  that,  perhaps,  every  incident  con- 
nected with  her  history  would  long  since  have  passed  into  oblivion,  had 
it  not  been  for  her  close  and  intimate  connection  with  Sappho ;  and  the 
few  fragments  of  her  poetry  which  still  remain.  Her  admiration  for  her 
distinguished  associate  naturally  led  her  to  adopt  her  measure ;  but  far 
from  confining  herself  to  that  strain,  she  used  all  the  varied  measures 
then  known  in  Greece,  and  in  hexameter  verse  she  is  said  to  have  rivalled 
even  Homer  himself.  Indeed,  Erinna  must  be  regarded  as  one  of  those 
extraordinary  geniuses  which  merely  alight  upon  this  earth,  and  then 
pass  away  to  leave  us  to  mourn  that  such  unusual  brightness  should  so 
soon  fade  from  our  view  :  all  the  excellence  at  which  she  arrived,  and  all 
the  fame  that  she  acquired,  was  attained  before  the  nineteenth  year  of 
her  age,  when  her  premature  death  occurred. 

In  the  fragments  of  this  sweet  child  of  song  that  remain,  particularly 
in  her  epigrams,  there  is  a  degree  of  simplicity  and  sweetness  that  has 
rarely  been  surpassed.  To  justify  this  remark,  the  following  epitaphs  are 
quite  sufficient. 


EPITAPH 

ON   A    VIRGIN   OF    MITYLENE,    WHO    DIED    ON   HER    WEDDING-DAY. 

The  virgin  Myrtis'  sepulchre  am  I ; 

Creep  softly  to  the  pillow'd  mound  of  woe; 
And  whisper  to  the  grave,  in  earth  below, 
'  Grave !    thou  art  envious  in  thy  cruelty !' 
To  thee,  now  gazing  here,  her  barb'rous  fate, 

These  bride's  adornments  tell;  that,  with  the  fire 
Of  Hymen's  torch,  which  led  her  to  the  gate, 

Her  husband  burn'd  the  maid  upon  her  pyre : 
Yes  Hymen  !  thou  didst  change  the  marriage  song 
To  the  shrill  wailing  of  the  mourner's  throng. 

7 


98  ERINNA.  [LECT.  IV. 


ON   THE    SAME. 

« 

Pillars  of  death!    carved  Syrens!    tearful  urns! 

In  whose  sad  keeping  my  poor  .dust  is  laid; 
To  him  that  near  my  tomb  his  footsteps  turns, 

Stranger  or  Greek,  bid  hail  1  and  say,  a  maid 
Rests  in  her  bloom  below :  her  sire  the  name 

Of  Myrtis  gave :  her  birth  and  lineage  high : 
And  say,  her  bosom  friend,  Erinua  came, 

And  on  this  marble  grav'd  her  elegy. 

Beside  these  epitaphs,  the  following  *  Ode  to  Rome'  has  usually  been 
attributed  to  this  sweet  poetess ;  but  Rome  could  hardly,  at  that  early 
period,  have  attracted  sufficient  attention  to  secure  so  flattering  a  notice 
from  a  distant  Grecian  author.  The  Ode  itself  is,  however,  of  so  rare 
merit,  that  we  shall  here  introduce  a  translation  of  it — remarking  that 
some  scholars,  of  high  pretensions  to  learning,  translate  the  original  title 
of  the  poem  an  '  Ode  to  .Fortitude,'  which  entirely  obviates  the  difficulty 
of  attributing  its  authorship  to  Erinna. 


ODE    TO    ROME. 

Hail !    oh  Rome !    thou  child  of  Mars  1 
Golden-mitred  !    wise  in  wars  1 
High  o'er  earth  thou  dvvellest  still, 
On  firm  Olympus'  hill. 

Rule  unbroken  fell  to  thee 
From  most  ancient  destiny; 
That,  in  thy  kingly  strength  secure, 
Thou  ever  may'st  endure. 

Thy  chariot  yoke,  and  guiding  rein 
Curb  the  wide  soil,  and  foamy  main; 
The  cities  of  the  nations  stand, 

Safe  underneath  thy  hand. 

Time,  who  has  earth's  destroyer  been, 
Who,  varying,  shifts  the  human  scene, 
Shall  never  change  the  prosperous  gale 
That  swells  thy  empire's  sail. 

For  thou  alone,  dost  heroes  bear, 

So  tall  of  limb,  so  strong  with  spear; 

Thine  are  the  spiky  ranks  of  war 

And  men  thy  harvests  are. 

Mimnermus,  Ibycus,  and  Theognis,  the  three  poets  to  be  next  noticed, 


594A.C.]  MIMNERMUS.  .  99 

are  comparatively  so  little  known  that  scarcely  any  definite  intelligence 
of  them  can  now  be  obtained.  They  were  sufficiently  eminent,  however, 
in  their  own  day,  to  produce  a  deep  sensation  upon  the  public  mind,  and 
many  fragments  of  their  poetry  were,  accordingly,  preserved  by  Athenseus 
and  others,  with  the  greatest  care.  In  our  remarks,  therefore,  on  Gre- 
cian literature,  though  they  will  occupy  but  a  limited  space,  we  cannot 
pass  them  over  in  silence. 

Mimnermus  was  born  at  Colophon,  in  Ionia,  594  A.C.  He  was  early 
eminent  both  as  a  musician  and  poet,  and,  according  to  Horace  and  Pro- 
pertius,  he  was  the  master  of  amatory  elegy.  Their  judgment,  however, 
must  have  been  based  upon  specimens  of  this  ancient  poet's  writings  with 
which  we  are  not  now  familiar,  for,  in  the  few  remaining  fragments  of 
his  poetry,  nothing  of  this  character  appears.  Indeed,  instead  of  the 
spirit  of  joy  and  amorous  delight,  a  morbid  melancholy  sentiment  prevails, 
complaining  of  the  transitory  nature  of  human  enjoyments,  of  the  brief- 
ness of  youth,  and  the  vanity  and  wretchedness  of  life — a  youth  passed  in 
dissolute  pleasures,  and  an  old  age  of  senseless  and  sensual  repinings. 
The  principal  fragments  of  his  poems  that  have  descended  to  us  are  the 
following : — 

YOUTH  AND  AGE. 

What  were  life,  and  where  its  treasure, 

Golden  Yenus,  wert  thou  flown  ? 
Ne'er  may  I  outlive  the  pleasure 

Given  to  man  by  thee  alone, — 

Honied  gifts  and  secret  love, 

Joys  all  other  joys  above. 

Quickly,  stripling !   quickly,  maiden ! 

Snatch  life's  blossoms  ere  they  fall; 
Age  with  hate  and  sorrow  laden, 

Soon  draws  nigh  to  level  all, — 

Makes  the  man  of  comeliest  mien,  < 

Like  the  most  ill-favored  seen. 

Youth  and  grace  his  path  declining, 

Gloomy  thoughts  his  bosom  tear; 
Seems  the  sun,  in  glory  shining, 

Now  to  him  no  longer  fair, — 

Joys  no  more  his  soul  engage, 

Such  the  power  of  dreary  age. 


SHORTNESS   OF  LIFE. 

We,  like  the  leaves  of  many-blossom'd  spring, 
When  the  sun's  rays  their  sudden  radiance  fling, 
In  growing  strength,  on  earth,  a  little  while 
Delighted,  see  youth's  blooming  flow'rets  smile. 


100  IBTCUS.  [LECT.IV 

Not  with  that  wisdom  of  the  gods  endued, 
To  judge  aright  of  evil  and  of  good. 
Two  Fates,  dark-scowling,  at  our  side  attend , 
Of  youth,  of  life,  each  points  the  destin'd  end, 
Old  age,  and  death:  the  fruit  of  .youth  remains 
Brief,  as  the  sunshine  scattered  o'er  the  plains : 
And,  when  these  fleeting  hours  have  fled  away, 
To  die  were  better  than  to  breathe  the  day. 
A  load  of  grief  the  burthen'd  spirit  wears; 
Domestic  troubles  rise  ;   penurious  cares  ; 
One  with  an  earnest  love  of  children  sighs ; 
The  grave  is  open'd,  and  he  childless  dies: 
Another  drags  in  pain  his  lingering  days, 
"While  slow  disease  upon  his  vitals  preys.    . 
Nor  lives  there  one,  whom  Jupiter  on  high. 
Exempts  from  years  of  mix'd  calamity. 

Ibycus  was  a  native  of  Rhegium,  in  Italy,  .and  was  born  about  565 
A.C.  After  having  acquired  a  high  poetic  reputation  in  his  native 
place,  he  removed  to  the  court  of  Polycrates,  in  Samos,  and  there  past 
most  of  the  remainder  of  his  life.  Suidas,  a  Greek  lexicographer,  who 
lived  in  the  beginning  of  the  tenth  century,  calls  him  the  most  love-mad 
of  poets  ;  and  the  brief  fragments  of  his  writings  that  still  remain  seem 
fully  to  justify  the  character  thus  given  him.  He  was  the  author  of  seven 
books  of  odes,  of  which,  however,  only  a  few  fragments  are  extant.  The 
story  of  his  death,  as  related  by  ^Elian,  is  as*  follows,  and  is  very  re- 
markable. Passing  through  a  solitary  place,  he  was  slain  by  robbers, 
and  seeing,  in  his  dying  moments,  a  flock  of  cranes  flying  over  his  head, 
he  exclaimed,  '  These  birds  will  be  «my  avengers !'  And  so  in  reality 
they  were ;  for  one  of  the  murderers  happening  soon  afterwards  to  see  a 
flock  of  the  same  birds  flying  over  the  market-place  of  Corinth,  inad- 
vertently exclaimed  to  his  comrades,  '  Behold  the  avengers  of  Ibycus !' 
His  words  were  overheard,  suspicions  arose,  inquiry  followed,  truth  came 
to  light,  and  the  poet's  dying  prophecy  was  fulfilled  in  the  execution  of 
his  murderers.  From  the  fragments  of  this  writer  we  present  the  fol- 
lowing ode : 

THE  INFLUENCE  OF   SPRING. 

In  Spring,  bedewed  with  river-streams, 
From  where,  for  everlasting  gleams 
•  The  garden  of  th'  Hesperides^.^ 
Blossom  Cydonian  apple-trees  ; — 
In  Spring  the  saplings  freshly  shine, 

Beneath  the  parent  vine, 

In  shadow  and  in  breeze; 
But  me,  Love's  mighty  power, 
That  eleepeth  never  an  hour, 
From  Venus  rushing,  burneth  with  desire, 

As  with  the  lightning  fire ; 


549  A.C.J  THEOGNIS.  101 

Black,  as  the  Thracian  wind, 

He  seizes  on  my  mind, 

With  dry  delirious  heat 

Inflames  my  reason's  seat, 

And  iu  the  centre  of  my  soul, 

Keeps  empire  for  a  child,  and  holds 

Uncheck'd  control. 

Theognis  was  born  at  Megara,  in  Achaia,  549  A.C.,  and  is  remarkable 
for  being  the"  first  poet  of  eminence  that  the  continent  of  Greece  pro- 
duced. As  was  before  observed,  we  know  nothing  of  his  parentage  or  of 
his  early  life ;  but  that  his  learning  was  eminent  is  evident  from  the  fact 
that  our  first  intelligence  of  him  finds  him  occupying  the  important  posi- 
tion of  a  public  instructor  in  his  native  place.  His  popularity  in  his 
profession  soon  became  such  as  to  excite  the  enmity  of  many  of  his  con- 
temporaries, perhaps  engaged  in  the  same  professional  pursuit ;  and  he 
was,  therefore,  accused  by  them  of  disseminating  amongst  his  scholars 
immoral  voluptuousness  under  the  guise  of  moral  precepts.  This  must, 
however,  have  been  mere  scandal ;  for  the  poems  of  Theognis  which  still 
remain,  so  far  from  containing  any  such  principles  as  those  with  which 
they  were  charged,  are  distinguished  for  their  elevated  and  sound  moral- 
ity. Indeed,  Athenaeus  assures  us  that  the  verses  of  Theognis,  like  those 
of  Hesiod,  were,  in  consequence  of  their  correct  moral  tendency,  used  for 
centuries  throughout  Greece,  for  purposes  of  public  recitation. 

The  style  of  this  early  poet  has  little  to  recommend  it.  His  verses 
consist  of  successive  maxims,  which,  though  pithily  expressed,  are,  with 
only  occasional  exceptions,  dry  and  unattractive.  His  three  principal 
poems  still  extant,  are  '  Lines  on  Friendship,'  '  Arguments  for  Social 
Enjoyment,  drawn  from  the  Shortness  of  Life,'  and  (  Return  to  my 
Native  Land.'  The  first  of  these  poems  contains  a  correct  and  even 
elevated  and  refined  view  of  the*subject  of  which  it  treats  ;  and  the  argu- 
ment of  the  second,  based  upon  the  brevity  of  earthly  existence,  is  in 
favor  of  peace.  The  third  is  a  sweet,  pathetic  strain.  Besides  these 
poems,  we  possess  a  number  of  rather  important  fragments  : 


ON  FRIENDSHIP. 

Caress  me  not  with  words,  while  far  away 
Thy  heart  is  absent,  and  thy  feelings  stray. 
But,  if  thou  love  me  with  a  faithful  breast, 
Be  that  pure  love  with  zeal  sincere  exprest: 
And  if  thou  hate,  thy  bold  aversion  show 
With  open  strife,  avowed  and  known  my  foe. 
Who  with  one  tongue,  has,  yet,  a  double  mind, 
Jn  him,  be  sure,  a  slippery  friend  we  find, 
And  better  as  a  foe  :   who,  in  thy  sight, 
Can  bid  his  speech  in  wanton  praise  delight  ; 


102  THEOGNIS.  [LECT.  IV. 

But,  parted  from  thee,  rails  with  sland'rous  tongue  ; 

If,  while  his  lips  with  honied  words  are  hung, 

Another  spirit  in  his  thoughts  contend, 

That  friend,  be  sure,  is  but  a  hollow  friend 

Let  none  thy  mind,  by  false  inducement,  move 

To  view  the  wicked  with  an  eye  of  love. 

How  sho*uld  a  bad  man's  friendship  profit  thee? 

Who  nor  from  deep  distress  will  set  thee  free, 

Nor  of  his  prosperous  fortunes  yield  a  share  ; 

Thankless-  are  benefits ;   an  empty  care 

Would  this,  thy  kindness  to  the  wicked,  be  ; 

Go,  rather  sow  the  hoary-foaming  sea  ; 

Scant  were  thy  harvest  from  the  barren  main, 

Nor  kindness  from  the  bad  returns  again. 

Unsatisfied  they  crave;  if,  once  thou  fail, 

Their  friendship  fades  like  a  forgotten  tale. 

But,  with  the  good,  the  fruits  of  kindness  thrive ; 

And,  still  repaid,  in  memory  survive. 

Let  not  the  wicked  thy  companion  be  ; 

From  him,  as  from  a  dangerous  harbor,  flee. 

Many  the  friends  of  cup  and  board;  but  few 

They,  whom  thy  earnest  need  in  succour  drew. 

Arduous  the  task,  and  on  the  warning  lend 

Thy  serious  thought,  to  know  the  painted  friend. 

Of  gold's  base  mixture  we  may  bear  the  loss, 

And  eyes  sagacious  can  detect  the  dross.  , 

But,  if  a  friend's  most  base  and  worthless  heart 

Lurk  in  his  breast,  beneath  the  mask  of  art, 

Jove  varnishes  to  sight  the  specious  skin, 

Nor  keenest  glance  may  pierce  the  rottenness  within. 

In  man,  nor  woman,  trust  the  friend  sincere, 

Till  thou  hast  proved  them,  as  we  prove  the  steer. 

Conjecture  aids  not,  as  when  seasons  smile, 

But  empty  shows  of  things  allure  thee  to  beguile. 


ARGUMENTS  FOR  SOCIAL  ENJOYMENT 

FROM    THE    SHORTNESS    OF    LIFE. 

May  Peace,  may  Plenty  bless  our  happy  state, 
And  social  feast ;   for  evil  war  I  hate. 
Sky-dwelling  Jove  1   above  our  city  stand, 
And  o'er  her  safety  spread  thy  guardian  hand. 
Smile  every  God ;   and  Phoebus,  thou,  dispense 
The  mind  of  wit,  the  tongue  of  eloquence : 
Let  harp  and  pipe  in  sacred  song  combine, 
And,  with  libations  of  the  sprinkled  wine 
Appeasing  heaven,  let  converse  blithe  be  ours, 
And  goblets,  dreadless  of  the  Median  powers.    * 
So  is  it  best  to  trifle  life  away. 
Our  minds  with  care  unburthen'd,  light  and  gay 


549A.C.]  THEOGNIS.  103 

So  from  dark  ills  of  fate  our  thoughts  depend,  % 

From  age  pernicious,  and  our  mortal  end. 

In  youth  I  blithsome  sport ;   for  soon  shall  fly 

My  spirit ;   and  my  body  deep  shall  lie 

Beneath  th'  eternal  ground  ;    while  years  roll  on 

Laid  motionless,  and  speechless  as  a  stone. 

Yes — I  shall  leave  the  pleasant  sun :  nor  more, 
Though  virtuous,  look  on  all  that  pleas'd  before 
Now,  then,  my  soul !   take  pleasure :   other  eyes 
Shall  view  the  sun,  and  other  men  arise  : 
While  I  am  lying  cold,  and  stark,  and  dead, 
With  dusty  blackness  of  the  earth  o'erspread. 
Still  leaps  my  heart,  when  breathing  on  my  ear, 
The  lovely  voice  of  murniring  flutes  I  hear  : 
The  goblet  cheers:   the  minstrels  joyance  bring": 
And  my  own  hands  touch,  glad,  the  thrilling  string: 
There  breathes  not  mortal,  on  whose  head  the  ground 
Has  closed,  whom  hell's  dark  chambers  compass  round, 
That  bears  the  minstrel,  listens  to  the  lyre, 
Or  feels  the  rosy  gifts  of  wine  inspire. 
My  soul !    the  thought  shall  pleasure's  counsel  speak ; 
Ere  the  head  tremble,  ere  the  knees  are  weak. 


RETURN  TO  MY  NATIVE  LAND. 

Wide  have  I  wandered,  far  Jbeyond  the  sea, 
Even  to  the  distant  shores  of  Sicily  ; 
To  broad  Euboea's  plentiful  domain, 
With  the  rich  vineyards  in  its  planted  plain ; 
And  to  the  sunny  wave  and  winding  edge 
Of  fair  Eurotas  with  its  reedy  sedge — 
Where  Sparta  stands  in  simple  majesty : 
Among  her  manly  rulers  there  was  I, — 
Greeted  and  welcomed  there  and  everywhere   • 
With  courteous  entertainment,  kind  and  fair ; 
Yet  still  my  weary  spirit  would  repine, 
Longing  again  to  view  this  land  of  mine; 
Henceforward,  no  design,  no  interest 
Shall  ever  move  me,  but  the  first  and  best ; 
With  Learning's  happy  gift  to  celebrate, 
Adorn,  and  dignify  my  native  State. 
The  song,  and  dance,  music  and  verse  agreeing, 
Will  occupy  my  life  and  fill  my  being ; 
Pursuits  of  elegance  and  learned  skill 
(With  good  repute,  and  kindness,  and  good  will 
Among  the  wisest  sort,)  will  pass  my  time 
Without  an  enemy,  without  a  crime ; 
Harmless  and  just  with  every  rank  of  men, 
Both  the  free  native,  and  the  denizen. 


104  THEOGNI?  [LECT  TV. 


YOUTH   AND   AGE. 

Ah  me  !  alike  o'er  youth  and  age  I  sigh, 
Impending  age,  and  youth  that  hastens  by  ; 
Swift  as  a  thought  the  flowing  moments  roll, 
Swift  as  a  racer  speeds  to  reach  the  goal. 
How  rich,  how  happy  the  contented  guest, 
.Who  leaves  the  banquet  soon,  and  sinks  to  rest. 
Damps  chill  my  brow,  my  pulses  flutt'ring  beat, 
Whene'er  the  vigorous  pride  of  youth  I  meet 
Pleasant  and  lovely  ;   hopeful  to  the  view 
As  golden  visions,  and  as  transient  too  : 
But  ah  !   no  terrors  stop,  nor  vows,  nor  tears 
Life's  mournful  evening,  and  the  gloom  of  years. 


POVERTY. 

For  noble  minds,  the  worst  of  miseries, 
Worse  than  old  age,  or  wearisome  disease, 
Is  Poverty.     From  Poverty  to  flee, 
From  some  tall  precipice  into  the  sea, 
It  were  a  fair  escape  to  leap  below  ! 
In  Poverty,  dear  Kyrnus,  we  forego 
Freedom  in  word  and  deed,  body  and  mind ; 
Action  and  thought  are  fetter'd  and  confin'd. 
Let  me  then  fly,  dear  Kyrnus,  once  again  ! 
Wide  as  the  limits  of  the  land  and  main, 
From  these  entanglements ;   with  these  in  view, 
Death  is"  the  lighter  evil  of  the  two. 


FRIENDS   AND  FOES. 

May  Jove  assist  me  to  discharge  a  debt 

Of  kindness  to  my  friends — and  grant  me  yet 

A  further  boon — revenge  upon  my  foes ! 

With  these  accomplished,  I  could  gladly  close 

My  term  of  life — a  fair  .requital  made — 

My  friends  rewarded,  and  my  wrongs  repaid! 

Gratitude  and  revenge,  before  I  die, 

Might  make  me  deemed  almost  a  deity. 

Yet  hear,  0  mighty  Jove !  and  grant  my  prayer, 

Relieve  me  from  affliction  and  despair ! 

0  take  my  life — or  grant  me  some  redress, 

Some  foretaste  of  returning  happiness. 

Such  is  my  state — I  cannot  yet  descry 

A  chance  of  vengeance  on  mine  enemy, 

The  rude  despoiler  of  my  property. 

Yet  my  full  wish,  to  drink  their  very  blood, 

Some  power  divine,  that  watches  for  my  good, 

May  yet  accomplish.     Soon-  may  he  fulfil 

My  righteous  hope,  my  just  and  hearty  will. 


558  A.C.]  AN  A  ORE  ON.  105 

Our  remarks  upon  G-recian  poetry  have  thus  brought  us  down  to  the 
age  of  Anacreon,  Simonides,  and  Pindar — perhaps  the  three  most  re- 
markable lyric  poets  that  any  age  or  country  ever  produced  at  the  same 
time.  The  prevailing  characteristic  of  each,  however,  is  peculiar  to 
himself.  Anacreon  is  soft  and  delicate  in  the  extreme.  His  drinking 
songs  have  all  the  gayety  of  their  subject,  without  any  of  its  grossness. 
His  assumed  philosophy,  however  irrational  in  itself,  gives  a  dignity  to 
his  manner,  and  there  is  a  pathos  in  the  thought  of  fleeting  life,  which, 
perhaps,  constitutes  the  secret  charm  of  many  of  his  voluptuous  effusions. 
Simonides,  on  the  other  hand,  is  always  serious  and  impressive ;  and 
though  capable  of  the  sublime,  he  does  not  often  indulge  in  it,  but  excels 
in  those  elegiac  subjects  which  call  forth  peculiar  strains  of  pathos;  while 
Pindar's  soaring  genius  led  him  to  indulge  in  those  daring  flights  of 
sublimity  to  which  no  other  ancient  lyric  poet  ever  even  approached. 

Anacreon  was  a  native  of  Ionia,  and  was  born  at  Teos,  in  that  coun- 
try, 558  A.C-  His  ancestors  were  originally  from  Attica,  and  Athenaeus 
makes  him  a  ktnsman  of  Solon,  the  celebrated  Athenian  law-giver,  and 
consequently  a  descendant  of  Codrus,  the  last  of  the  Athenian  kings. 
Thus  connected,  he  naturally  enjoyed  every  advantage  of  education  which 
that  early  period  afforded ;  and  hence  his  time  seems  to  have  been  unin- 
terruptedly devoted  to  close  and  uuremitted  study,  until  the  eighteenth 
year  of  his  age.  At  that  time  an  incident  occurred  which  entirely  changed 
tne  aspect  of  his  native  country,  and  desolated  his  early  home.  Har- 
pagus,  one  of  the  generals  of  Cyrus  the  Great,  was  sent,  after  Cyrus  had 
eonquered  Lydla,  into  the  Grecian  States  of  Asia  Minor,  to  compel  them 
to  submit  to  him  as  the  conqueror  of  Croasus — they  having  previously 
t>een  subjected  to  the  authority  of  that  Lydian  prince.  Whilst  Miletus 
and  many  other  of  the  Ionian  States  submitted  without  resistance,  the 
Teans  determined  to  maintain  their  independence.  They  were,  however, 
eventually  overpowered  by  the  superior  force  of  Harpagus ;  but,  sooner 
than  become  the  subjects  of  Cyrus,  they  resolved  to  embark  with  their 
families  and  effects  on  board  of  their  fleet,  and  seek  a  new  abode  in  some 
distant  region  of  country.  After  a  long  and  tedious  voyage,  they  arrived 
at  Abdera,  on  the  coast  of  Thrace,  and  there  formed  a  settlement,  which 
they  designed  as  their  future  home.  At  first  the  Thracians  seemed 
pleased  with  their  new  neighbors,  but  for  some  reason  they  afterwards 
became  disaffected  towards  them,  and  resolved  to  expel  them  by  force 
from  the  country.  A  war  was  the  consequence,  and  in  the  successive 
conflicts  that  followed,  Anacreon  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  many  of  his 
friends  and  connections,  the  mournful  celebration  of  whose  deaths  formed 
the  earliest  theme  of  his  lyric  muse. 

Though  the  contest  finally  resulted  in  favor  of  the  Teans,  yet  the  in- 
roads which  it  made  in  Anacreon's  family  circle  were  such  as  to  leave 
him  no  inducement  longer  to  remain  in  that  distant  country ;  and  as  the 


106  AN  AC  RE  0  N.  [LECT.  IV. 

odes  and  epigrams,  to  which  we  have  already  alluded,  had  spread  his 
fame  throughout  Greece  and  the  adjacent  islands,  he  was  invited  by  Poly- 
crates,  tyrant  of  Samos,  to  remove  to  that  monarch's  court,  and  there 
take  up  his  permanent .  abode.  Anacreon  unhesitatingly  complied  with 
the  tyrant's  request,  and  had  dwelt  at  Samos  but  a  short  time  before  he 
gave  evidence  of  the  possession  of  a  genius  for  politics  and  state-affairs 
quite  equal  to  that  which  had  already  distinguished  him  as  a  poet  5  in 
consequence  of  which  Polycrates  first  made  him  one  of  his  councillors  of 
State,  and  afterwards  his  prime  minister.  In  this  situation  Anacreon 
continued  during  the  remainder  of  the  life  of  Polycrates — about  eighteen 
years — basking  in  the  sunshine  of  royal  favor,  and  indulging,  unfortu- 
nately, in  all  the  voluptuousness  of  that  eastern  court. 

When  intelligence  of  the  death  of  Polycrates  reached  Athens,  Hip- 
parchus,  the  wise  and  sagacious  tyrant  of  that  country,  desirous  of  en 
joying  the  advantages  of  the  presence  and  councils  of  the  late  prime 
minister  of  Samos,  earnestly  solicited  Anacreon  to  remove  to  his  court 
and  make  it  his  permanent  residence ;  and  in  order  to  facilitate  his  pas- 
sage over  the  ^Egean  sea,  he  sent  the  State  galley,  containing  thirty 
benches  of  oars,  to  convey  him  thither.  At  Athens,  Anacreon's  popu- 
larity as  a  poet  soon  became  greatly  enhanced  by  the  production  of  some 
of  the  finest  odes  that  ever  emanated  from  his  mind,  and  were  recorded 
by  his  pen.  His  habits  of  inebriety,  however,  at  Athens,  increased  upon 
him  so  rapidly,  that  he  soon  became  fitted  for  little  else  than  voluptuous 
enjoyment. 

When,  by  the  conspiracy  of  Harmodius  and  Aristogiton,  Hipparchus 
was  dethroned  and  slain,  Anacreon  left  Athens  and  returned  to  Teos, 
where  he  designed  to  remain  till  the  close  of  his  life.  The  attempt 
of  Histaeus,  tyrant  of  Miletus,  however,  to  throw  off  the  Persian  yoke, 
compelled  Anacreon  again  to  leave  his  native  country,  and  seek  a  new 
abode.  He  first  repaired  to  Abdera  ;  but  finding  himself,  in  consequence 
of  the  many  years  that  had  elapsed  since  he  left  there,  a  comparative 
stranger,  he  returned  to  Athens,  and  there,  after  many  years,  closed  his 
eventful  life.  His  death  occurred  in  the  eighty-fifth  year  of  his  age,  and 
was  immediately  produced,  according  to  Suidas,  by  the  excessive  drink- 
ing of  new  wine,  an  unobserved  grape-stone  in  which  choked  him  to  suf- 
focation. The  Athenian^,  notwithstanding  Anacreon's  irregular  habits, 
so  greatly  admired  his  genius,  that  they  erected  to  his  memory,  soon  after 
his  death,  a  most,  imposing  statue,  representing,  however,  an  old  man  in 
a  state  of  inebriety. 

Few  poets  have  ever  been,  to  a  greater  extent,  the  delight  of  both 
ancients  and  moderns  than  Anacreon ;  and  hence  the  praises  which  his 
critics  have  uniformly  bestowed  upon  him,  have  been  of  the  most  extrav- 
agant kind.  His  works  were,  Odes,  Epigrams,  Elegies,  Hymns,  and 
Iambics;  and  of  their  merit  Horace,  the  greatest  of  Roman  lyrists,  remarks  : 


558  A.C.]  ANACREON.  107 

Whatever  old  Anacreon  sung, 

However  tender  was  the  lay, 

In  spite  of  time  is  ever  young. 

• 

Scaliger,  a  distinguished  German  critic,  calls  his  verses  '  sweater  than 
Indian  sugar.'  'His  beauty,' says  Madame  Dacier,  'and  chiefest  ex- 
cellence lay  in  imitating  nature,  and  in  following  reason,  so  that  he  pre- 
sented to  the  mind  no  images  but  what  were  noble  and  natural.'  '  The 
odes  of  Anacreon,'  says  the  celebrated  French  critic  Rapin,  '  are  flowers, 
beauties,  and  perpetual  graces.  It  is  familiar  to  him  to  write  what  is 
natural  unto  life,  he  having  an  air  so  delicate,  so  easy,  and  so  graceful, 
that  among  all  the  ancients  there  is  nothing  comparable  to  the  method 
he  took,  nor  to  the  kind  of  writing  he  followed.  He  flowed  soft  and 
easy  ;  everywhere  diffusing  the  joy  and  indolence  of  his  mind  through 
his  verse,  and  tuning  his  harp  to  the  smooth  and  pleasant  temper  of  his 
soul.'  But  no  one  has  given  a  juster  character  of  Anacreon's  writings 
than  the  little  God  of  Love  as  taught  by  Cowley : 

All  thy  verse  is  sweeter  far, 
Than  the  downy  feathers  are 
Of  my  wings  and  of  my  arrows, 
Of  my  mother's  doves  and  sparrows ; 
Graceful,  cleanly,  smooth  or  round, 
All  with  Venus'  girdle  bound. 

From  the  remaining  poems  of  Anacreon,  which  are  more  numerous 
than  are  those  of  any  of  his  contemporary  poets,  we  shall  select  such  as 
will  afford  us  an  opportunity  of  presenting  the  various  themes  which  oc- 
cupied his  muse,  without  reference  to  their  respective  merit.  Of  '  The 
Dove,'  the  first  poem  here  introduced,.  Dr.  Johnson  remarke'd,  '  As  I 
was  never  struck  with  anything  in  the  Greek  language,  till  I  read  Ana- 
creon's Dove,  so  have  I  never  read  anything  in  the  same  language  since, 
that  pleased  me  more.'  A  similar  remark  might  be  made,  perhaps 
with  equal  propriety,  of  each  poem  that  here  follows  it,  and  especially 
of  the  'Address  to  a  Painter;'  for  where  all  are  so  exquisite,  it  seems 
invidious  to  give  exclusive  preference  to  any  one  : 


THE    DOVE. 

'Lovely  courier  of  the  sky, 
Whence  and  whither  dost  thou  fly  ? 
Scattering,  as  thy  pinions  play, 
Liquid  fragrance  all  the  way. 
Is  it  business?     Is  it  love? 
Tell  me,  tell  jne,  gentle  Dove.' — 
Soft  Anacreon's  vows  I  bear, 
Vows-  to  Myrtale  the  fair  ; 


108  ANACREON.  [LECT.  IV. 

Graced  with  all  that  charm  the  heait, 
Blushing  nature,  smiling  art, 
Venus,  courted  by  an  ode, 
•  On  the  Bard  her  Dove  bestow'd. 

Vested  with  a  master's  right 
Now  Anacreon  rules  my  flight : 
As  the  letters  that  you  see, 
Weighty  charge  consigned  to  me : 
Think  not  yet  my  service  hard, 
Joyless  task  without  reward : 
Smiling  at  my  master's  gates, 
Freedom  my  return  awaits : 
But  the  liberal  grant  in  vain 
Tempts  me  to  be  wild  again. 
Can  a  prudent  Dove  decline 
Blissful  bondage  such  as  mine  ? 
Over  hills  and  fields  to  roam, 
Fortune's  guest  without  a  home  • 
Under  leaves  to  hide  one's  head, 
Slightly  shelter'd,  coarsely  fed ; 
Now  my  Better  lot  bestows 
Sweet  repast,  and  soft  repose  ; 
Now  the  generous  bowl  I  sip 
As  it  leaves  Anacreon's  lip; 
.     Void  of  care,  and  free  from  dread 
From  his  fingers  snatch  his  bread, 
Then  with  luscious  plenty  gay 
Round  his  chambers  dance  and  play; 
Or,  from  wine  as  courage  springs, 
,    .        O'er  his  face  expand  my  wings ; 
And  when  feast  and  frolic  tire, 
Drop  asleep  upon  his  lyre. 
This  is  all ;    be  quick  and  go, 
More  than  all  thou  can'st  not  know; 
Let  me  now  my  pinions  ply, — 
I  have  chatter'd  like  a  pye  ! 


TO   A   PAINTER. 

Best  of  painters  now  dispense 
All  thy  tinted  eloquence : 
Master  of  the  roseate  art, 
Paint  the  mistress  of  my  heart. 
Paint  her,  absent  though  she  be, 
Paint  her  as  described  by  me. 

Paint  her  hair  in  tresses  flowing 
Black  as  jet  its  ringlets  glowing: 
If  the  pallet  soar  as  high, 
Paint  their  humid  frag^ancy. 
Let  the  color  smoothly  show 
The  gentle  prominence  of  brow ; 


658  A.C.]  ANACREON.  109 

Smooth  as  ivory  let  it  shine, 
Under  locks  of  glossy  twine. 

Now  her  eyebrows  length'ning  bend ; 
Neither  sever  them,  nor  blend: 
Imperceptible  the  space 
Of  their  meeting  arches  trace : 
Be  the  picture  like  the  maid; 
Her  dark  eye-lids  fringed  with  shade. 

Now  the  real  glance  inspire ; 
Let  it  dart  a  liquid  fire : 
Let  her  eyes  reflect  the  day, 
Like  Minerva's,  hazel-gray, 
Like  those  of  Venus,  swimming  bright, 
Brimful  of  moisture  and  of  light. 

Now  her  faultless  nose  design 
In  its  flowing  acquiline : 
Let  her  cheeks  transparent  gleam, 
like  to  roses,  strew'd  in  cream: 
Let  her  lips  seduce  to  bliss, 
Pouting  to  provoke  the  kiss. 

Now  her  chin  minute  express, 
Rounded  into  prettiness : 
There  let  all  the  Graces  play ; 
In  that  dimpled  circle  stray; 
Round  her  bended  neck  delay : 
Marble  pillar,  on  the  sight 
Shedding  smooth  its  slippery  white. 
For  the  rest,  let  drapery  swim 
In  purplish  folds  o'er  every  limb; 
But,  with  flimsy  texture,  show 
The  shape,  the  skin,  that  partial  glow : 
Enough — herself  appears ;  'tis  done  • 
The  picture  breathes ;  the  paint  will  speak  anon 


CUPID  BENIGHTED. 

Twas  noon  of  night,  and  round  the  pole, 
The  sullen  Bear  was  seen  to  roll ; 
And  mortals,  wearied  with  the  day, 
Were  slumbering  all  their  cares  away ; 
An  infant,  at  that  dreary  hour, 
Came  weeping  to  my  silent  bower, 
And  waked  me  with  a  piteous  prayer, 
To  shield  him  from  the  midnight  air, 
'And  who  art  thou,'  I  waking  cry, 
'  That  bid'st  my  blissful  visions  fly  !' 
'Ah,  gentle  sire,' — the  infant  said, — 
'  In  pity  take  me  to  thy  shed ; 
Nor  fear  deceit ;  a  lonely  child, 
I  wander  o'er  the  gloomy  wild. 
Chill  drops  the  rain,  and  not  a  ray 
Ulumea  my  drear  and  misty  way.' 


110  ANACREOtf.  [LECT.  IY 

I  heard  the  baby's  tale  of  woe ; 
I  heard  the  bitter  night-winds  blow; 
And,  sighing  for  his  piteous  fate, 
I  trirnm'd  my  lamp,  and  op'd  the  gate. 
Twas  Love  1  the  little  wandering  sprite, 
His  pinion  sparkled  through  the  night. 
I  knew  him  by  his  bow  and  dart ; 
I  knew  him  by  my  fluttering  heart. 
Fondly  I  take  him  in,  and  raise 
The  dying  embers'  cheering  blaze; 
Press  from  his  dark  and  clinging  hair 
The  crystals  of  the  freezing  air, 
And  in  my  hand  and  bosom  hold 
His  little  fingers,  thrilling  cold. 

And  now  the  ember's  genial  ray 
Had  warm'd  his  anxious  fears  away: 
'  I  pray  thee,'  said  the  wanton  child, 
(My  bosom  trembled  as  he  smil'd,) 
'I  pray  thee,  let  me  try  my  bow, 
For  through  the  rain  I've  wandered  so, 
That  much  I  fear,  the  midnight  shower 
Has  injur'd  its  elastic  power.' — 
His  fatal  bow  the  urchin  drew ; 
Swift  from  the  string  the  arrow  flew; 
As  swiftly  flew  a  glancing  flame, 
And  to  mine  inmost  spirit  came! 
And  'Fare  thee  well,' — I  heard  him  say, 
As,  laughing  wild,  he  wing'd  his  way ; 
'  Fare  thee  well,  for  now,  I  know, 
The  rain  has  not  relaxed  my  bow; 
It  still  can  send  a  thrilling  dart, 
As  thou  shalt  own  with  all  thy  heart !' 


A  DREAM. 

At  midnight,  when  my  slumb'ring  head 

Sank  on  the  purple-quilted  bed, 

As  wine  its  swimming  raptures  shed : 

Methought  I  ran  a  tip-toe  race 

With  gadding  maids  of  frolic  grace: 

While  youths,  like,  Bacchus,  fair  and  young, 

Pursued  me  with  reviling  tongue, 

And  keen  their  taunting  envy  flung. 

When,  as  I  sought  to  snatch  a  kiss, 
The  vision  fled — the  sleep  of  bliss : 
And  left  alone,  I  felt  in  vain 
The  tort'ring  wish  to  sleep  again. 


658A.O.]  AN  AC  RE  ON.  HI 


RETURN  ^  OF  SPRING. 

See  the  spring  appears  in  view; 

The  Graces  showers  of  roses  strew. 

See  how  ocean's  wave  serene 

Smooths  the  limpid,  glassy  green : 

"With  oaring  feet  the  sea-duck  swims; 

The  stork  in  airy  journey  skims : 

The  sun  shines  out  in  open  day ; 

The  shadowy  clouds  are  roll'd  away; 

The  cultur'd  fields  are  smiling  bright 

In  verdant  gaiety  of  light: 

Earth's  garden  spreads  its  tender  fruits ; 

The  juicy  olive  swelling  shoots ; 

The  grape,  the  fount  of  Bacchus,  twines 

In  clusters,  red  with  embryo  wines : 

Through  leaves,  through  boughs  it  bursts  its  way. 

And  buds,  and  ripens  on  the  day. 

BEAUTY. 

To  all  that  breathe  the  air  of  heaven 

Some  boon  of  strength  has  Nature  given. 

In  forming  the  majestic  bull, 

She  fenced  with  wreathed  horns  his  skull ; 

A  hoof  of  strength  she  lent  the  steed, 

And  winged  the  timorous  hare  with  speed; 

She  gave  the  lion  fangs  of  terror, 

And  o'er  the  ocean's  crystal  mirror, 

Taught  the  unnumbered  scaly  throng 

To  trace  the  liquid  path  along; 

While  for  the  umbrage  of  the  grove 

She  plumed  the  warbling  world  of  love. 

To  man  she  gave,  in  that  proud  hour, 

The  boon  of  intellectual  power  ; 

Then  what,  0  woman,  what  for  thee 

Was  left  in  Nature's  treasury  ? .  % 

She  gave  thee  beauty — mightier  far 

Than  all  the  pomp  and  power  of  war. 

Nor  steel,  nor  fire  itself  hath  power 

Like  woman  in  her  conquering  hour, 

Be  thou  but  fair, — mankind  adore  theel 

Smile, — and  a  world  is  weak  before  theel 


THE  ROSE. 

Buds  of  roses,  virgin  flowers, 
Culled  from  Cupid's  balmy  bowers, 
In  the  bowl  of  Bacchus  steep, 
Till  with  crimson  drops  they  weep. 


112  ANACREON  [LECT.  IV. 

Twine  the  rose,  the  garland  twine, 

Every  leaf  distilling  wine : 

Drink  and  smile,  and  learn  to  think, 

That  we  were  born  to  smile  and  drink. 

Rose  !   thou  art  the  sweetest  flower, 

That  ever  drank  the  amber  shower ; 

Rose,  thou  art  the  fondest  child 

Of  dimpled  spring,  the  wood-nymph  wild. 

Even  the  gods,  who  walk  the  sky, 

Are  amorous  of  thy  scented  sigh. 

Cupid,  too,  in  Paphian  shades, 

His  hair  with  rosy  fillets  braids, 

When  with  the  blushing  sister  Graces, 

The  wanton,  winding  dance  he  traces. 

Then  bring  me,  showers  of  roses  bring, 

And  shed  them  o'er  me  while  I  sing; 

Or,  while,  great  Bacchus,  round  thy  shrine. 

Wreathing  my  brow  with  rose  and  vine, 

I  lead  some  bright  nymph  through  the  dance, 

Commingling  soul  with  every  glance. 


FOLLY  OF  AVARICE. 

If  hoarded  gold  possessed  the  power 
To  lengthen  life's  too  fleeting  hour, 
And  purchase  from  the  hand  of  death 
A  little  space,  a  moment's  breath, 
How  I  would  love  the  precious  ore, 
And  every  hour  should  swell  my  store ; 
That  when  Death  came,  with  shadowy  pinion, 
To  waft  me  to  his  black  dominion, 
I  might,  by  bribes,  my  doom  delay, 
And  bid  him  call  another  day. — 
But  since  not  all  earth's  golden  store 
Can  buy  for  us  one  bright  hour  more, 
Why  should  we  vainly  mourn  our  fate, 
Or  sigh  at  life's  uncertain  date? 
^"or  wealth  nor  grandeur  can  illume 
The  silent  midnight  of  the  tomb. 
No — give  to  others  hoarded  treasures — 
Mine  be  the  brilliant  round  of  pleasures ; 
The  goblet  rich,  the  board  of  friends, 
Whose  social  souls  the  goblet  blends ; 
And  mine,  while  yet  I've  life  to  Hve, 
Those  joys  which  love  alone  can  give. 


CUPID   AND   THE   BEE. 

Cupid  once  upon  a  bed 
Of  roses  laid  his  weary  head; 
Luckless  urchin,  not  to  see  • 
Within  the  leaves  a  slumbering  beel 


658  A.C.]  AN"  A  ORE  ON.  113 

The  bee  awaked — with  anger  wild 
The  bee  awaked,  and  stung  the  child. 
Loud  and  piteous  are  his  cries. 
To  Venus  quick,  he  runs,  he  flies; 
'  Oh  mother  !    I  am  wounded  through  — 
I  die  with  pain — what  shall  I  do  ? 
Stung  by  some  little  angry  thing, 
Some  serpent  on  a  tiny  wing — 
A  bee  it  was,  for  once  I  know 
I  heard  a  peasant  call  it  so.' 
Thus  he  spoke,  and  she  the  while 
Heard  him  with  a  soothing  smile; 
Then  said:  my  infant  if  so  much 
Thou  feel  the  little  wild-bee's  touch, 
How  must  the  heart,  ah,  Cupid,  be, 
The  hapless  heart,  that's  stung  by  thee? 


DRINKING. 

Observe,  when  mother  Earth*  is  dry, 
She  drinks  the  droppings  of  the  sky ; 
And  then  the  dewy  cordial  gives 
To  every  thirsty  plant  that  lives. 
The  vapors,  which  at  evening  sweep, 
Are  beverage  to  the  swelling  deep : 
And  while  the  rosy  sun  appears 
He  drinks  the  ocean's  misty  tears. 
The  Moon,  too,  quaffs  her  paly  stream 
Of  lustre  from  the  solar  beam. 
Then  hence  with  all  your  sober  thinking 
Since  Nature's  holiest  law  is  drinking : 
I'll  make  the  laws  of  Nature  mine, 
And  pledge  the  universe  in  wine. 


HAPPY   LIFE. 

Fill  the  bowl  with  rosy  wine! 
Around  our  temples  roses  twine  1 
And  let  us  cheerfully  awhile 
Like  the  Wine  and  Roses  smile. 
Crown'd  with  roses,  we  contemn 
Gyges'  golden  diadem. 
To-day  is  ours ;  what  do  we  fear  ? 
To-day  is  ours;  we  have  it  here: 
Let's  treat  it  kindly,  that  it  may 
Wish,  at  least,  with  us  to  stay, 
Let's  banish  business,  banish  sorrow, 
To  the  gods  belongs  to-morrow. 


114  AN  AC  RE  ON.  [LECT.  IV. 


CONVIVIAL. 
i 

Ne'er  shall  that  man  my  comrade  be, 
Or  drink  a  generous  glass  with  me, 
Who,  o'er  his  bumper  brags  of  scars, 
Of  noisy  broils,  and  mournful  wars. 
But  welcome  thou,  congenial  soul, 
And  share  my  purse,  and  drain  my  bowl, 
Who  canst,  in  social  knot,  combine 
The  Muse.   Good-humor,  Love,  and  Wine. 


Knhn  tjrt 


SIMONIDES.— PINDAR. 

"TTJE  observed,  in  the  last  lecture,  that  Anacreon,  Simonides,  and  Pin- 
V  V  dar  were,  perhaps,  the  three  most  remarkable  lyric  poets  that  any 
age  or  country  ever,  simultaneously,  produced ;  and  then  proceeded  to  set 
forth  the  claims  of  Anacreon  to  the  honor  of  this  exalted  distinction.  His 
two  eminent  contemporaries  will  now  occupy  our  attention. 

Simonides,  the  second  poet  in  this  distinguished  trio,  was  born  in  the 
island  of  Ceos,  556  $.C.,  and  was,  therefore,  only  two  years  younger 
than  Anacreon.  Of  his  family,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  passed  the 
early  part  of  his  life  no  intelligence  has  been  preserved ;  but  it  is  evident 
that  he  was  well  educated,  for  he  had  scarcely  reached  the  age  of  man- 
hood when  we  find  him  engaged  in  conducting  a  school,  the  design  of 
which  was  to  prepare  the  youth  of  distinguished  families  to  take  part  in 
the  public  chorusses  employed  in  solemn  and  religious  exercises.  His 
native  island  did  not,  however,  long  afford  sufficient  scope  for  the  exercise 
of  his  abilities,  or  sufficient  opportunities  to  gratify  his  aspiring  ambition ; 
and  he,  therefore,  removed  to  Athens,  at  that  time  the  great  centre  of 
everything  excellent  in  literature  and  taste,  and  was  there  received  by 
the  accomplished  Hipparchus,  with  the  most  flattering  marks  of  honor 
and  distinction.  At  Athens  Simonides  found  for  his  associates,  Anac- 
reon, Pindar,  and  many  other  eminent  wits  of  the  age ;  and  enjoying  the 
patronage  of  the  splendid  Athenian  court,  he  soon  reached  the  height 
at  which  his  ambitious  aspirings  aimed. 

Though  Athens  was  the  general  residence  of  Simonides,  yet  he  did 
not  confine  himself  to  that  city ;  but  as  occasion  offered  frequently  visited 
different  States  of  Greece,  and  in  his  journeyings  embraced  every  oppor- 
tunity that  presented  itself  to  celebrate,  in  verse,  the  deeds  of  departed 
excellence,  or  to  rescue  from  oblivion,  fame  that  might  otherwise  have 
been  lost.  After  -the  death  of  Hipparchus  he  removed  to  the  court  of 
Scopas,  tyrant  of  Thessaly,  and  by  his  verses  in  honor  of  that  prince,  pre- 
served from  oblivion  a  name  to  which  no  other  honor  can  be  attached. 

The  elegies  which  Simonides  there  produced  in  commemoration  of 


116  SIMONIDES.  [lEcr.V. 

tlie  departed  dead,  naturally  brought  him,  in  the  way  of  remuneration, 
large  sums  of  money,  in  consequence  of  which  he  was  charged  by  the  con- 
temporary poets  with  degrading  the  heavenly  gift  of  poetry  by  prostituting 
it  to  the  base  purposes  of  gain.  Indeed,  avarice  seems  to  have  been  his 
prevailing  characteristic,  and,  perhaps,  his  only  fault,  When  this  vice 
was  openly  charged  upon  him,  instead  of  denying  it,  he  calmly  replied  that 
'  he  would  rather  leave  a  fortune  to  his  enemies  at  his  death,  than  to  be  com- 
pelled, through  poverty,  to  seek  assistance  from  his  friends  while  living.' 
Having  resided  at  Athens  and  in  Thessaly  for  many  years,  Simonides 
finally,  on  invitation  of  Hiero,  tyrant  of  Syracuse,  removed  to  the  court 
of  that  monarch,  and  there  passed  the  remainder  of  his  life.  His  death 
occurred,  according  to  Athenseus,  in  the  ninety -first  year  of  his  age,  and  his 
remains  were  honored  with  a  splendid  funeral,  an  appropriate  epitaph, 
composed  probably  by  himself,  being  inscribed  upon  his  tomb.  His  sep- 
ulchre is  said  by  Suidas  to  have  been  ruthlessly  destroyed  by  Phrenix,  a 
general  of  the  Agrigentines,  who  used  its  materials  for  the  construction  of 

a  tower,  when  he  was  besieging  Syracuse. 

/ 

As  Simonides  was  a  philosopher  as  well  as  a  poet,  ahd,  perhaps, 
equally  excellent  in  science  as  in  literature,  Hiero  and  his  queen,  with 
both  of  whom  he  lived  on  terms  of  close  personal  intimacy,  soon  became 
not  only  deeply  interested  in  his  conversations,  but  so  devotedly  attached 
to  his  person,  that  they  made  him  their  friend  and  confident,  and  were  in 
the  habit  of  indulging  in  frequent  and  even  familiar  discussions  with  him. 
On  one  of  these  occasions  the  king  abruptly  asked  Simonides,  "  What 
Grod  was  ?"  The  philosophic  poet,  after  hesitating  for  a  moment,  desired 
the  monarch  to  allow  him  to  postpone  the  answer  to  so  important  a  ques- 
tion until  the  following  day  ;  but  when  the  hour  at  which  his  answer  was 
to  be  given  arrived,  he  desired  a  second  postponement  of  two  days  longer, 
and  at  the  expiration  of  that  time,  finding  himself  as  far  from  being  able 
to  answer  the  king's  question  as  at  its  first  suggestion,  he  frankly  ac- 
knowledged that  the  subject  was  beyond  his  comprehension,  and  that  the 
longer  he  reflected  upon  it  the  more  inexplicable  it  became. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  features  of  Simonides'  character  was  his 
piety.  To  this  all  antiquity  bears  testimony,  and  many  instances,  such 
as  those  which  follow,  are  cited  to  show  that  he  was  under  the  special 
protection  of  the  gods.  Cicero,  on  the  authority  of  Callimachus,  states 
that  at  a  banquet  given  by  Scopas  of  Thessaly,  when  Simonides  had 
sung  a  poem  which  he  had  composed  in  honor  of  his  patron,  and  in  which, 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  poets  in  their  epinicion  odes,  he  had 
adorned  his  composition  by  devoting  a  great  part  of  it  to  the  praises  of 
Castor  and  Pollux,  the  tyrant  had  the  meanness  to  say  that  he  would 
give  the  poet  only  half  of  the  stipulated  payment  for  his  ode,  and  that 
he  might  apply  for  the  remainder,  if  he  chose,  to  the  Tyndaridse,  to 


556A.C.]  SIM  ON  IDES.  117 

whom  he  had  given  an  equal  share  of  the  praise.  It  was  not  long  before  a 
message  was  brought  to  Simonides,  that  two  young  men  were  standing  at  the 
door,  and  earnestly  demanded  to  see  him.  He  rose  from  his  seat,  went  out, 
and  found  no  one  ;  but,  during  his  absence,  the  building  he  had  just  left 
fell  down  upon  the  banqueters,  and  crushed  to  death  Scopas  and  all  his 
friends,  whom  we  may  suppose  to  have  laughed  heartily  at  his  barbarous 
jest.  And  so  the  Dioscuri  paid  the  poet  their  half  of  the  reward  for  his 
ode.  Callimachus,  in  a  fragment  which  we  still  possess,  puts  into  the 
poet's  mouth  some  beautiful  elegiac  verses  in  celebration  of  this  event. 

Another  instance  of  the  direct  interposition  of  the  gods  for  his  protec- 
tion, in  reward  of  his  piety,  is  given  by  Tully,  and  is  as  follows : — Hap- 
pening to  discover,  as  he  was  leisurely  walking  on  the  sea-beach,  awaiting 
the  sailing  of  the  vessel  in  which  he  had  taken  passage  for  Syracuse,  the 
dead  body  of  a  man  who  had  recently  been  drowned,  and  as  the  corpse 
was  that  of  a  stranger,  he  immediately  gave  to  it  at  his  own  expense  a 
decent  burial.  In  the  course  of  the  following  night  he  had  a  vision  of 
the  dead  man,  for  whose  remains  he  had  performed  the  pious  office,  and 
was  by  him  admonished  not  to  sail  the  next  day  as  he  had  designed. 
He  heeded  the  admonition,  and  remained  on  shore ;  but  his  companions, 
putting  to  sea,  were  all  shipwrecked  and  drowned.  The  marvellous 
character  of  these  incidents  must  be  apparent  to  every  intelligent  reader 
of  the  present  day ;  and  our  object  in  introducing  them  here  is  not  to  ex- 
press our  confidence  in  their  verity,  but  merely  to  exhibit  the  effect 
which  the  faith  of  the  ancients  in  the  piety  of  Simonides,  exercised  over 
their  most  exalted  minds. 

Of  all  the  poets  of  antiquity  few  were  more  honored  by  their  contem- 
poraries than  Simonides ;  and  to  the  esteem,  admiration,  and  even  rev- 
erence in  whfch  he  was  held,  the  purity  and  moral  elevation  of  his  life 
doubtless  essentially  contributed.  Xenophon,  the  great  historian,  does 
him  the  honor  to  make  him  a  speaker  with  Hiero,  in  his  dialogue  of 
tyranny ;  and  Plato,  in  his  Protagoras,  introduces  Socrates  expounding 
his  verses,  and  elsewhere  bestows  upon  him  the  imposing  epithet  of 
Divine. 

The  works  of  Simonides  consisted  chiefly  of  Elegies,  Odes,  Epigrams, 
and  Laments.  His  genius  had  few  of  the  attributes  of  sublimity,  and 
hence  the  chief  characteristics  of  his  poetry  were  sweetness  and  elaborate 
finish,  combined  with  the  truest  poetic  conception  and  perfect  power  of 
expression ;  though  in  originality  and  fervor  he  was  far  inferior,  not  only 
to  the  early  lyric  poets,  such  as  Sappho  and  Alcseus,  but  also  to  his  con- 
temporary Pindar.  His  elegies  exhibit  a  tone  of  melancholy  pathos,  and 
a  depth  of  feeling,  that  strikingly  reminds  one  of  the  strains  of  the 
Prophet  Jeremiah ;  and  his  '  Lamentation  of  Danae,'  is  remarkably 
similar  to  the  Lamentations  of  that  prophet  over  the  destruction  of 


118  SIMONIDES.  [LECT.  V. 

Jerusalem,  and  the  fall  of  the  Jewish  nation.  His  odes,  especially  those 
on  the  four  great  battles  of  Marathon,  Thermopylae,  Salamis,  and 
Platasa,  exhibit  much  more  fire  and  energy  than  his  other  poems;  but 
even  these  were  pervaded  with  all  the  tenderness  of  which  the  subjects 
were  susceptible,  and  rather  dwelt  upon  the  sacrifices  of  life  which  the 
conflict  cost,  than  upon  the  triumphs  which  in  them  were  achieved. 

The  fragmentary  remains  of  this  great  poet  are  very  limited,  and  are 
chiefly  comprised  in  the  pieces  which  follow.  The  Lamentation  of 
Danae,  the  most  important  of  these  fragments,  is  based  upon  the  well- 
known  tradition  that  Danae  and  her  infant  son  were  confined,  by  order 
of  Acrisius,  king  of  Argos,  in  a  wooden  chest,  and  then  exposed  to  the 
merciless  waves — that  they  were  afterwards  rescued  and  saved  from  per- 
ishing by  Dictys,  brother  of  Polydectes,  king  of  the  island  of  Seriphus : 

LAMENTATION  OF  DANJE. 

When  round  the  well  fram'd  ark  the  blowing  blast' 

Roar'd,  and  the  heaving  whirlpools  of  the  deep 

With  rough'ning  surge  seem'd  threat'ning  to  o'erturn 

The  wide-tost  vessel,  not  with  tearless  cheeks 

The  mother  round  her  infant  gently  twined 

Her  tender  arm,  and  cried,  '  Ah,  me !   my  child ! 

What  sufferings  I  endure!   thou  sleeps't  the  while, 

Inhaling  in  thy  milky-breathing  breast 

The  balm  of  slumber ;  though  iinprison'd  here 

In  undelightful  dwelling  ;   brassy -wedged ; 

Alone  illumed  by  the  stars  of  night, 

And  black  and  dark  within.     Thou  heed'st  not 

The  wave  that  leaps  above  thee,  while  its  spray 

Wets  not  the  locks  deep-clust'riug  round  thy  head ; 

Nor  hear'st  the  shrill  winds'  hollow  whisp'ring  sounds 

While  on  thy  purple  downy  mantle  stretch'd, 

With  count'nance  flush'd  in  sleeping  loveliness. 

Then  if  this  dreadful  peril  would  to  thee 

Be  dreadful,  turn  a  light  unconscious  ear 

To  my  lamentings :  sleep !    I  bid  thee  sleep, 

My  infant  1   oh,  may  the  tremendous  surge 

Sleep  also !   may  th'  immeasurable  scene 

Of  watery  perils  sleep,  and  be  at  rest ! 

And  void,  and  frustrate,  prove  this  dark  device, 

I  do  conjure  thee,  Jove !   and  though  my  words 

May  rise  to  boldness,  at  thy  hands  I  ask 

A  righteous  vengeance,  by  this  infant's  aid!' 

THE  MISERIES  OF  LIFE. 

Jove  rules  the  world,  and  with,  resistless  sway, 
Demands  to-morrow  what  he  gave  to-day; 
In  vain  our  thoughts  to  future  scenes  we  cast, 
Or  only  read  them  darkly  in  the  past; 


556A.C.]  SIMONIDES.  119 

For  Hope  enchanting  points  to  new  delights, 

And  charms  with  dulcet  sounds  and  heavenly  sights ; 

Expecting  yet  some  fancied  bliss  to  share, 

We  grasp  at  bubbles  that  dissolve  in  air, 

And  some  a  day,  and  some  whole  years  await 

The  whims  and  chances  of  capricious  fate  ; 

Nor  yet  the  lovely  visions  are  possest — 

Another  year  remains  to  make  them  blest, 

While  age  steals  on  to  sweep  their  dreams  away, 

And  grim  diseases  hover  round  their  prey ; 

Or  war,  with  iron  hold,  unlocks  the  grave, 

Devouring  myriads  of  the  young  and  brave. 

Some  on  the  billows  rocked,  that  roll  on  high, 

Cling  to  the  plank  in  vain,  and  wasted  die; 

Some  by  the  halter  lay  their  miseries  down 

And  rush,  unsummoned,  to  the  world  unknown. 

Our  very  sweets  possess  a  secret  harm, 

Teem  with  distress,  and  poison  while  they  charm. 

The  fatal  Sisters  hover  round  our  birth, 

And  dash  with  bitter  dregs  our  cup  on  earth: 

Yet  cease  to  murmur  at  thy  fate  in  vain, 

And  in  oblivion  steep  the  shaft  of  pain. 

VIRTUE. 

Virtue  in  legend  old  is  said  to  dwell 

On  high  rocks,  inaccessible  ; 
•  But  swift  descends  from  high, 

And  haunts  of  virtuous  men  the  chaste  society. 

No  man  shall    ever   rise 
Conspicuous  in  his  fellow-mortal's  eyes 
To  manly  virtue's  pinnacle ; 
Unless  within  his  soul,  he  bear 
The  drops  of  painful  sweat,  that  slowly  well 
From  spirit-wasting  thought,  and  toil,  and  care. 

INSCRIPTIONS. 
ON      ANACREON. 

Bland  mother  of  the  grape !   all-gladdening  vine ! 

Teeming  inebriate  joy  !   whose  tendrils  blown 
Crisp-woven  in  winding  trail,  now  green  entwine 

This  pillar's  top,  this  mount,  Anacreon's  tomb. 
As  lover  of  the  feast,  th'  untemper'd  bowl, 
While  the  full  draught  was  reeling  in  his  soul, 
He  smote  upon  the  harp,  whose  melodies 

Were  tuned  to  girlish  loves,  till  midnight  fled ; 
Now,  fall'n  to  earth,  embower  him  as  he  lies, 

Thy  purpling  clusters  blushing  o'er  his  head 
Still  be  fresh  dew  upon  the  branches  hung, 
Like  that  which  breathed  from  his  enchanting  tongue 


120  SIMON  IDES.  [LEOT.  V 


ON  THOSE   WHO  FELL  AT  THERMOPYLAE. 

In  dark  Thermopylae  they  lie; 
Oh  death  of  glory  thus  to  die  ! 
Their  tomb  an  altar  is,  their  name 
A  mighty  heritage  of  fame: 
Their  dirge  is  triumph ;    cankering  rust, 
And  time  that  turneth  all  to  dust, 
That  tomb  shall  never  waste  nor  hide, — 
The  tomb  of  warriors  true  and  tried. 
The  full-voiced  praise  of  Greece  around 
Lies  buried  in  that  sacred  mound; 
Where  Sparta's  king,  Leonidas, 
In  death  eternal  glory  has. 


ON  THE  SAME. 

Greatly  to  die,  if  this  be  glory's  height, 

For  the  fair  meed  we  own  our  fortune  kind ; 

For  Greece  and  Liberty  we  plunged  to-night, 
And  left  a  never-dying  name  behind. 

But  of  all  the  commemorations  of  the  '  battle  of  Thermopylae,'  that 
have  come  down  to  us,  by  far  the  most  celebrated  is  the  Epitaph, 
comprised  in  two  lines,  written  by  Simonides,  and  placed  upon  the  monu- 
ment erected  to  the  memory  of  those  who  there  so  gloriously  fell  in  de- 
fence of  their  country.  Of  this  Epitaph  or  Inscription,  Christopher 
North,  in  an  article  on  the  Greek  Anthology,  in  Blackwood's  Magazine, 
makes  the  following  remark  : — "  The  oldest  and  best  inscription  is  that 
on  the  altar-tomb  of  the  Three  Hundred.  Do  you  remember  it  ?  Here 
it  is — the  Greek — with  three  Latin,  and  eighteen  English  versions 
Start  not :  it  is  but  two  lines ;  and  all  Greece,  for  centuries,  had  them 
by  heart.  She  forgot  them,  and  'Greece  was  living  Greece  no  more  V 
Of  the  various  English  translations  of  this  celebrated  Epitaph,  the  fol- 
lowing are,  perhaps,  the  best : — 

O  stranger,  tell  it  to  the  Lacedaemonians, 
That  we  lie  here  in  obedience  to  her  precepts. 


Go  tell  the  Spartans,  thou  who  passest  by, 
That  here,  obedient  to  her  laws,  we  lie. 


ON  CIMON'S   LAND   AND  SEA  VICTORY. 

Ne'er  since  the  olden  time,  when  Asia  stood 
First  torn  from  Europe  by  the  ocean  flood, 
Since  horrid  Mars  thus  poured  on  either  shore 
The  storm  of  battle  and  the  wild  uproar, 


556A.C.]  SIMON  IDES.  121 

Hath  man  by  land  and  sea  such  glory  won, 
Ne'er  seen  such  deeds,  as  thou,  this  day,  hast  done. 
By  land,  the  Medes  in  thousands  press  the  ground ; 
By  sea,  an  hundred  Tyrian  ships  are  drown'd 
"With  all  their  martial  host ;   while  Asia  stands. 
Deep  groaning  by,  and  wrings  her  helpless  hands. 


ON  THOSE  WHO  FELL  AT  EURYMEDON. 

These  by  the  streams  of  famed  Eurymedon 
Their  short  but  brilliant  race  of  life  have  run; 
In  winged  ships  and  on  the  embattled  field 
Alike,  they  forced  the  Median  bows  to  yield, 
•       Breaking  their  foremost  ranks.    Now  here  they  lie. 
Their  names  inscribed  on  rolls  of  victory. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  HIPPARCHUS. 

Fair  was  the  light,  that  brighten'd  as  it  grew, 

Of  Freedom,  on  Athena's  favor'd  land, 
When  him,  the  Tyrant,  bold  Harmodius  slew, 

link'd  with  Aristogiton  hand  in  hand. 

ON  ARCHEDICE,   THE  DAUGHTER  OF  HIPPIAS. 

Daughter  of  him,  who  ruled  the  Athenian  plains, 
This  honored  urn  Archedice  contains ; 
Of  tyrants  mother,  daughter,  sister,  wife, 
Her  soul  was  humble,  and  unstained  her  life. 

ON  A  STATUE  OF  CUPID,  BY  PRAXITELES. 

"Well  has  the  sculptor  felt  what  he  exprest; 
He  drew  the  living  model  from  his  breast. 
WiM  not  his  Phryne  the  rare  gift  approve, 
Me  for  myself  exchanging,  love  for  love  ? 
Lost  are  my  fabled  bow  and  magic  dart; 
But,  only  gazed  upon,  I  win  the  heart. 

INSCRIBED  ON  A  CENOTAPH. 

0  cloud-capt  Gerania,  rock  unblest! 

Would  thou  had'st  rear'd  far  hence  thy  haughty  crest, 

By  Tanais  wild,  or  wastes  where  Ister  flows; 

Nor  look'd  on  Sciron  from  thy  silent  snows! 

A  cold,  cold  corpse  he  lies  beneath  the  wave, 

This  tomb  speaks  tenantless,  his  ocean-grave. 

It  was  in  such .  brief  effusions  as  the  preceding  Inscriptions  and  Epi- 


122  PINDAR.  [LECT.  V. 

taphs  that  Simonides  so  remarkably  excelled,  as  to  carry  off  the  prize  in 
almost  every  contest ;  hence  his  fifty-six  poetic  triumphs,  the  last  of 
which  was  obtained  at  Tarentum,  in  the  south  part  of  Italy,  when  he  had 
passed  the  eightieth  year  of  his  age.  The  following  fragments  will  close 
our  notice  of  this  attractive  old  poet : 


FRAGMENTS. 

• 

i. 

Human  strength  is  unavailing; 
Boastful  tyranny  unfailing; 
All  in  life  is  care  and  labor ; 

And  our  unrelenting  neighbor,  • 

Death,  forever  hovering  round ; 
Whose  inevitable  wound, 
When  he  comes  prepar'd  to  strike, 
Good  and  bad  will  feel  alike.  . 

II. 

Mortal,  dost  thou  dare  to  say, 
What  may  chance  another  day  ? 
Or  thy  fellow  mortal  seeing, 
Circumscribe  .his  terra  of  being  ? 
Swifter  than  the  insect's  wings 
Is  the  change  of  mortal  things. 

III. 
What  e'er  of  virtue  or  of  power, 

Or  good  or  great  we  vainly  call, 
Each  moment  eager  to  devour, 

One  vast  Charybdis  swallows  all. 

IV. 

The  first  of  human  joys  is  health ; 
Next,  beauty;  and  then,  honest  wealth; 
The  fourth,  youth's  fond  delights  to  prov.e 
With  those — (but  most  with  her) — we  love. 

Pindar,  the  last  of  the  great  trio  of  lyric  poets,  whom  we  have  at  pres- 
et under  consideration,  and  according  to  the  universal  testimony  of  the 
ancients,  by  far  the  greatest  lyric  poet  of  Greece,  was  a  native  of* 
Boeotia,  and  was  born  either  at  Thebes  or  at  Cynocephalae,  a  village  in 
the  territory  of  that  city,  522  A.C.  He  belonged  to  a  dignified  and 
poetic  race,  and  his  parents,  Daiphantus  and  Clidice,  both  of  noble 
origin,  perceiving  in  him  early  indications  of  extraordinary  genius,  sent 
him,  in  his  youth,  to  Athens,  to  be  instructed  in  the  poetic  art.  This 
determination  on  their  part  was  hastened,  according  to  tradition,  by  the 
miraculous  foreshadowing  of  his  future  glory  as  a  poet,  by  a  swarm  of 
bees  which,  in  his  infancy  rested  upon  his  lips  while  he  was  asleep. 


522A.O.J  PINDAR.  123 

Lyric  poetry  among  the  Greeks,  it  must  be  remembered,  was  so  inti- 
mately connected  with  music,  dancing,  and  the  whole  training  of  the 
chorus,  that  the  lyric  poet  required  no  small  amount  of  education  to  fit 
him  for  the  exercise  of  his  profession  ;  and  at  Athens  his  education  could, 
at  that  time,  be  much  more  readily  obtained  than  in  Thebes,  where  poetry 
received  comparatively  little  attention.  Besides,  Bosotia,  his  native 
country,  was,  through  the  heaviness  of  its  atmosphere,  so  uncongenial  to 
the  fostering  of  genius,  or  the  cultivation  of  intellect,  as  to  be  regarded 
throughout  Greece  as  proverbially  suppressive  of  all  mental  or  intellec- 
tual effort.  Pindar  himself,  in  after-life,  acknowledged  the  truth  and 
force  of  the  proverb,  as  applicable  to  the  mass  of  his  countrymen,  but 
made  himself  an  exception  to  the  general  rule. 

Having  completed  his  studies  at  Athens,  Pindar,  before  he  had 
passed  the  twentieth  year  of  his  age,  returned  to  Thebes,  and  immedi- 
ately became  intimate  with  Myrtis  and  Corinna  of  Tanagra,  two  poet- 
esses who  then  enjoyed  great  celebrity  in  Boeotia.  Corinna  appears  to 
have  exercised  very  considerable  influence  upon  the  youthful  poet,  and 
he  is  supposed  to  have  been  not  a  little  indebted  to  her  example  and 
precepts.  It  is  related  by  Plutarch  that  she  recommended  to  Pindar  to 
introduce  mythical  narratives  into  his  poems,  and  that  when,  in  accord- 
ance with  her  advice,  he  composed  a  hymn  in  which  he  interwove  almost 
all  the  Theban  mythology,  she  smiled  and  said,  '  We  ought  to  sow  with 
the  hand,  and  not  with  the  whole  sack.'  With  both  these  poetesses  Pindar 
contended  for  the  prize  in  the  musical  contests  at  Thebes ;  and  although 
Corinna  found  fault  with  Myrtis,  for  entering  into  the  contest  with  him, 
saying,  '  I  blame  the  clear- toned  Myrtis,  that  she,  a  woman  born,  should 
enter  the  lists  with  Pindar;'  still,  she  herself  is  said  to  have  contended 
with  him  five  times,  and  on  each  occasion  to  have  gained  the  prize. 
Pausanias  does  not,  indeed,  speak  of  more  than  one  victory,  and  men- 
tions a  picture  which  he  saw  at  Tanagra,  in  which  Corinna  was  repre- 
sented binding  her  hair  with  a  fillet,  in  token  of  her  victory ;  which  he 
attributes  as  much  to  her  beauty,  and  to  the  circumstance  that  she  wrote 
in  the  JEolic  dialect,  as  to  her  poetical  talents. 

Pindar  spent,  however,  only  a  very  short  time  in  these  comparatively 
trifling  contests ;  but,  abandoning  the  lighter  song,  boldly  struck  his  lyre 
to  the  nobler  strains  of  the  heroic  and  sublime  : — 

He  felt  the  fire  that  in  him  glowed, 

and  his  first  Pythian  ode,  composed  at  the  early  age  of  twenty,  extended 
his  fame  throughout  every  section  of  Greece ;  and  gave  him  so  great  a 
reputation,  that  he  was  soon  employed  by  different  states  and  princes  in 
all  parts  of  the  Hellenic  world,  to  compose  for  them  heroic  and  choral 
songs  for  all  special  occasions.  For  such  works  he  received  large  sums 
of  money,  and  many  presents  ;  but  he  never  degenerated,  like  Simonidas, 


124  PINDAR.  [LECT.  V. 

into  a  common  mercenary  poet,  and  he  continued  to  preserve,  to  his  latest 
days,  the  respect  of  all  parts  of  Greece. 

The  next  ode  of  Pindar,  in  point  of  time,  which  has  come  down  to  us, 
was  written  in  his  twenty-seventh  year,  and  was  composed  in  honor  of 
Xenocrates  of  Agrigentum,  who  had  gained  the  prize  at  the  chariot-race 
at  the  Pythian  games,  by  means  of  his  son  Thrasybulus.  It  is  unneces- 
sary, however,  to  relate  at  length  the  different  occasions  upon  which  he 
wrote  his  other  odes.  The  principal  personages  for  whom  he  composed 
them  were  Hiero,  tyrant  of  Syracuse  ;  Alexander,  son  of  Amyntas,  king 
of  Macedonia ;  Theron,  tyrant  of  Agrigentum ;  Arcesilaus,  king  of  Gy- 
rene ;  besides  many  others,  written  for  the  free  States  of  Greece,  and 
also  for  private  individuals.  He  was  courted  especially  by  Alexander, 
king  of  Macedonia,  and  Hiero,  tyrant  of  Syracuse ;  and  the  praises 
which  he  bestowed  upon  the  former  are  supposed  to  have  been  the  chief 
reason  whieh  led  his  descendant,  Alexander  the  Great,  to  spare  the  house 
of  the  poet,  when  he  destroyed  the  city  of  Thebes. 

Pindar's  stated  residence  was  at  Thebes,  though  he  frequently  left 
home  in  order  to  witness  the  great  public  games,  and  to  visit  the  states 
and  distinguished  men  and  monarchs  who  courted  his  friendship  and 
employed  his  services.  When  about  fifty  years  of  age  he  thus  visited 
the  court  of  Hiero,  in  consequence  of  the  pressing  invitations  of  that 
monarch ;  but  he  remained  only  about  four  years  at  Syracuse — as  he 
loved  an  independent  life,  and  did  not  care  to  cultivate  the  courtly  arts 
which  rendered  his  countryman,  Simonides,  a  more  welcome  guest  at  the 
table  of  their  patron.  But  tne  estimation  in  which  Pindar  was  held  by 
his  contemporaries,  is  still  more  strikingly  seen  in  the  honors  conferred 
upon  him  by  the  free  States  of  'Greece.  Although  a  Theban,  he  was 
always  a  great  favorite  with  the  Athenians,  whom  he  frequently  praised  in 
his  poems,  and  in  whose  city  he  passed,  as  a  public  guest,  many  years  of 
his  life.  In  one  of  his  dithyrambs  he  calls  it  '  the  support  of  Greece,  glo- 
rious Athens,  the  divine  city.'  The  Athenians  testified  their  gratitude 
by  voting  him  the  freedom  of  their  city,  and  giving  him  ten  thousand 
drachmas;  and  soon  after  his  death,  they  erected  a  magnificent  statue  to 
his  honor.  The  inhabitants  of  Ceos  employed  him  to  compose  for  them 
a  processional  song,  although  they  had  two  celebrated  poets  of  their  own 
— Simonides  and  Bacchylide;  and  the  Rhodians  had  his  seventh  Olympian 
ode  written  in  letters  of  gold  in  the  temple  of  the  Lindian  Athenae.  Thus 
honored  and  revered  he  passed  his  useful  and  brilliant  career,  and  finally 
died  in  his  native  city,  in  the  eightieth  year  of  his  age,  and  442  A.C. 

The  only  poems  of  Pindar  that  have  come  down  to  us  entire,  are  his 
Epinitia,  or  triumphal  odes ;  but  these  were  only  a  small  portion  of  his 
works.  He  wrote,  also,  Hymns  to  the  Gods,  Paeans,  Dithyrambs,  Odes 
for  Processions,  Songs  of  Maidens,  Drinking  Songs,  Dirges,  and  Encomia,, 
or  Panegyrics  on  Princes.  Of  these  we  have  numerous  fragments,  but 


522  A.C.]  PINDAR.  125 

no  entire  piece.  One  peculiarity  about  all  his  poems  is  the  evidence 
they  give  that  he  was  deeply  penetrated  with  a  strong  religious  feeling. 
He  had  not  imbibed  any  of  the  scepticism  which  began  to  take  root  in 
Athens  after  the  Persian  war.  The  old  myths  were  for  the  most  part 
realities  to  him,  and  he  accepted  them  with  implicit  credence,  except 
when  they  exhibited  the  gods  in  a  point  of  view  which  was  repugnant 
to  his  moral  feelings.  For,  in  consequence  of  the  strong  ethical  sense 
which  he  possessed,  he  was  unwilling  tp  believe  the  myths  which  repre- 
sented the  gods  and  heroes  as  guilty  of  immoral  acts  ;  and  he  accordingly 
frequently  rejects  some  tales,  and  changes  others,  because  they  are  inconsis- 
tent with  his  own  conceptions  of  the  attributes  and  character  of  the  gods. 
The  Epinicia,  or  triumphal  odes  of  Pindar,  are  divided  into  four 
books,  celebrating  respectively  the  victories  gained  in  the  Olympian, 
Pythian,  Nemean,  and  Isthmian  games.  In  order  properly  to  under- 
stand them,  we  must  bear  in  mind  the  nature  of  the  occasion  for  which 
they  were  composed,  and  the  object  which  the  poet  had  in  view.  A  vic- 
tory gained  in  one  of  the  four  great  national  festivals,  conferred  honor 
not  only  upon  the  conqueror  and  his  family,  but  also  upon  the  city  to 
which  he  belonged.  It  was  accordingly  celebrated  with  great  pomp  and 
ceremony.  Such  a  celebration  began  with  a  procession  to  a  temple, 
where  a  sacrifice  was  offered,  and  it  ended  with  a  splendid  banquet.  For 
this  celebration  a  poem  was  expressly  composed,  and  was  sung  by  a  cho- 
rus, trained  for  the  purpose,  either  by  the  poet  himself,  or  by  some  other 
person  whom  he  employed  for  that  purpose.  The  poems  were'  sung 
either  during  the  procession  to  the  temple,  or  at  the  comus,  at  the  close 
of  the  banquet.  In  the  odes  of  Pindar  prepared  for  such  occasions,  he 
rarely  describes  the  victory  itself,  as  the  scene  was  supposed  to  be  famil- 
iar to  all  the  spectators  ;  but  he  dwells  upon  the  glory  of  the  victor,  and 
celebrates  chiefly  either  his  wealth  or  his  skill  —  his  wealth,  if  he  had 
gained  the  victory  in  the  chariot  race,  since  it  was  only  the  wealthy  that 
could  contend  for  the  prize  in  this  contest  ;  his  skill,  if  he  had  been  ex- 
posed to  peril  in  the  contest.  He  frequently  celebrates  also  the  piety 
and  goodness  of  the  victor  ;  for  with  the  deep  religious  feeling,  which 
pre-eminently  characterizes  Pindar,  he  believed  that  the  moral  and  re- 
ligious character  of  the  conqueror  conciliated  the  favor  of  the  gods,  and 
gained  for  him  their  support  and  assistance  in  the  contest.  For  the  same 
reason  he  dwells  at  great  length  upon  the  mythical  origin  of  the  person 
whose  victory  he  extols,  and  connects  his  exploits  with  the  similar  ex- 
ploits of  the  heroic  ancestors  of  the  race  or  nation  to  which  he  belongs. 
These  mythical  narratives  occupy  a  very  prominent  feature  in  almost  all 
of  his  odes,  and  are  not  introduced  for  the  sake  of  ornament,  but  have  a 
close  and  intimate  connection  with  the  whole  object  and  purpose  of  each 
poem.  Such  are  the  odes  of  Pindar. 


We  have  had  occasion  frequently,  in  the  course  of  thj^e  remarks,  to 


126  PINDAR.  [LECT.  V. 

allude  to  the  honors  which  Pindar's  contemporaries  heaped  upon  him. 
A  fixed  sentiment  seems  to  have  pervaded  all  antiquity  that  the  attri- 
butes of  his  mind  were  entirely  unearthly— that  his  poetical  aspirations 
soared  so  far  beyond  those  of  his  contemporaries  or  predecessors,  as  to 
elevate  him  entirely  above  the  reach  of  parallel.  In  accordance  with 
this  idea,  there  was  placed  in  the  Temple  of  Apollo  at  Delphi,  and  ap- 
propriated exclusively  to  his  use,  an  iron  chair,  in  which  he  was  seated 
when  he  repaired  thither  to  sing  the  praises  of  the  Immortal  there  wor- 
shiped ;  and  as  though  this  were  not  sufficient  honor,  the  Priestess  of  the 
Temple  directed  all  who  came  there  to  present  their  first  fruit  offerings, 
to  dedicate  a  part  of  them  to  the  divine  poet.  His  residence  in  the  city 
of  Thebes  was,  on  two  different  occasions,  spared  when  all  the  rest  of  the 
city  was  laid  desolate — first,  by  the  Lacedaemonians,  and  afterwards  by 
Alexander  the  Great.  A  victory  even  at  the  great  (jrrecian  games  was 
incomplete,  and  wanted  its  crowning  ornament,  until  celebrated  in  his 
immortal  strains ;  and  however  far  these  strains  transcended  those  of 
all  other  lyric  poets  in  grandeur,  the  depth  of 'erudition  which  pervaded, 
them  was  still  more  surprising.  It  was  this  that  led  Plato,  in  one  of 
his  dialogues,  to  introduce  him  in  conference  with  the  tyrant  Hiero,  and  to 
call  him  the  '  Wisest',  and  the  '  Divine,'  and  jEschylus,  the  father  of  dram- 
atic poetry,  to  call  him  the  '  Great,'  and  Athenseus  the  '  Most  Sublime.' 

It  has  been  usual  among  English  critics,  but  we  confess  that  the  fancy 
is,  to  us,  a  singular  one,  to  compare  Pindar  to  Gray,  the  author  of  the 
'  Elegy  in  a  Country  Church- Yard;'  for  between  these  two  poets  we  can- 
not ourselves  perceive  one  single  trace  of  resemblance.  Pindar  was  all 
fire  and  strength,  while  Gray's  whole  poetic  life  was  spent  in  elaborating 
a  few  slender  odes,  in  all  of  which  we  trace  the  commonplaces  of  the 
scholar's  reading,  and  smell  the  odor  of  the  lamp.  Collins,  to  our  mind, 
bears  a  much  closer  resemblance  to  the  simple  spontaneousness,  the  fine 
abstraction,  and  the  ideal  sublime  of  Pindar.  Perhaps  a  nearer  parallel 
to  Pindar's  odes  is  to  be  found  in  the  chorusses  of  Milton,  than  in  the 
poems  of  any  other  modern  writer.  We  perceive  in  the  lyrics  of  Mil- 
ton and  in  the  odes  of  Pindar,  a  similar  copiousness  of  thought,  and 
expression,  and  images,  rolling  forth  as  if  involuntarily,  from  the  abun- 
dant sources  of  fancy  and  reflection.  A  similar  severe  and  chaste  style, 
relieved  by  the  freshness  of  color,  and  picturesqueness  of  manner  in 
descriptive  painting,  and  the  intermixture  of  gorgeously  romantic  im- 
agery :  a  similar  lofty  and  calm  abstractedness  of  imagination,  and  the 
same  purity  and^unworldliness  of  feeling ;  the  same  religious  tone,  and 
almost  oracular  emphasis,  in  the  uttering  of  moral  truths. 

We  present,  as  our  first  selection  from  the  poems  of  Pindar,  one  of 
his  celebrated  odes  to  Hiero  of  Syracuse,  by  whom  he  was  treated 
during  his  residence  at  his  court,  rather  as  a  prince  than  as  a  poet ;  in 


522  A.C.]  PINDAR.  127 

return  for  which  the  great  lyrist  poured  forth  those  strains  to  the  honor 
of  the  king  and  in  praise  of  his  victories,  which  have  contributed  more 
to  the  immortalizing  of  the  memory  of  that  accomplished  monarch  than 
all  his  own  splendid  deeds  combined. 


THE  FIRST  PYTHIAN  ODE. 

TO   HIERO    OF   ;ETNA,    TYRANT   OF    SYRACUSE,    ON   HIS    VICTORY   IN   THE 
CHARIOT-RACE. 

L      1. 

Oh  lyre  of  gold : 

Which  Phoebus,  and  that  sister  choir, 

With  crisped  locks  of  darkest  violet  hue, 

Their  seemly  heritage  forever  hold : 

The  cadenc'd  step  hangs  listening  on  thy  chime; 

Spontaneous  joys  ensue; 

The  vocal  troops  obey  thy  signal-notes: 

While  sudden  from  the  shrilling  wire 

To  lead  the  solemn  dance  thy  murmur  floats 

In  its  preluding  flight  of  sound: 

And  in  thy  streams  of  music  drown'd 

The  forked  light'uing  in  Heaven's  azure  clime 

Quenches  its  ever-flowing  fire. 

I    2. 

The  monarch-eagle  then  hangs  down 
On  either  side  his  flagging  wing, 
And  on  Jove's  sceptre  rocks  with  slumbering  head : 
Hovering  vapors  darkling  spread 
O'er  his  arch'd  beak,  and  veil  his  filmy  eye: 
Thou  pour'st  a  sweet  mist  from  thy  string1"; 
And,  as  thy  music's  thrilling  arrows  fly, 
He  feels  soft  sleep  effuse 
From  every  pore  its  balmy-stealing  dews, 
And  heaves  his  ruffled  plumes  in  slumber's  ecstacy. 
Stern  Mars  hath  dropp'd  his  sharp'd  and  barbed  spear ; 
And  starts,  and  smiles  to  hear 

Thy  warbled  chaunts,  while  joy  flouvs  in  upon  his  mind : 
Thy  music's  weapons  pierce,  disarm 

The  demons  of  celestial  kind,  , 

By  Apollo's  music-charms, 
And  accent  of  the  zoned,  full-bosom'd,  maids 
Tluit  haunt  Pieria's  shades. 

I     3. 

But  they,  whom  Jove  abhors,  with  shuddering  ear 

The  voices  -of  the  Muses  hear  ; 

Whether  they  range  the  earth  or  tossing:  sea: 

Such  is  that  hundred-headed  giant,  he 

Of  blessed  Gods  an  enemy, 


128  PINDAR.  [LECT.  V. 

Typhon ;  who  lies  in  chasm  of  Tartarus  drear : 

To  whom  Cilicia's  legend- fabled  cave 

His  nourish'd  being  gave : 

Now  on  nis  shaggy  breast 

Sicilia's  isle  and  Cuma's  sea-girt  shore 

Are  ponderously  prest ; 

And  that  round  pillar  of  the  sky 

With  congelation  hoar, 

jEtna,  crushes  him  from  high ; 

While  the  year  rolls  slow 

Nurse  of  keen-encrusted  snow. 


II.     1. 

From  forth  whose  secret  caves 

Fountains  pure  of  liquid  flame 

With  rush  and  roaring  came ; 

And  rivers  rolling  steep  in  fiery  waves 

In  a  stream  of  whitening  smoke 

On  glowing  ether  broke : 

And  in  the  dark  and  dead  of  night 

With  pitchy-gathering  cloud  and  glare  of  light, 

The  volleying  fire  was  heard  to  sweep 

Masses  of  shiver'd  rock  with  crashing  sound, 

Dash'd  midst  the  sullen  ocean's  waters  deep. 

There  that  Vulcanian  dragon  casts 

His  fiery  whirlpool  blasts; 

Blazing  in  horrid  light 

On  the  scared  ken  of  mortal  sight; 

Far  bursting,  marvellous  to  hear, 

On  the  passing  traveller's  ear. 

II.     2. 

A  Miracle  of  sight  and  sound 

To  him    that  muses,  how  fast-bound 

That  giant  wallows  on  his  flinty  bed; 

Under  ^Etna's  beetling  head 

With  blackening  foliage  crown'd, 

And  deep  beneath  the  mountain's  roots  profound: 

While  as  his  limbs  at  their  huge  length  are  spread, 

His  back  is  scarr'd  with  many  a  rocky  wound. 

Oh,  grant  me,  Jove !    with  strains  like  these 

Thy  gracious  ear  to  please : 

This  forehead  of  green  earth,  this  mount  in  air 

Swelling-sublime,  thine  eye  o'ersees : 

The  founder  of  illustrious  fame 

Bade  the  neighboring  city  bear 

The  mountain's  kindred  name : 

Its  honors  to  the  gazing  crowd 

Did  the  herald's  voice  proclaim, 

In  him,  who,  graced  with  conquest  proud, 

In  chariots  winning  fresh  renown, 

Wears  now  the  Pythian  crown. 


522  A.C.1  PINDAR.  129 

II.  3. 
The  ocean-faring  men, 

.   When  first  they  spread  the  sail, 
Hope  the  favoring  wind  may  blow, 
Conceiving  auspice  then 
That  the  same  happy  gale 

Shall  speed  their  voyage  back  athwart  the  main, 
Safe-passing  to  and  fro: 
So  my  prophetic  strain, 
From  these  auspicious  deeds, 
Augurs  ^Etna's  future  fame 
In  crowns  and  conquering  steeds, 
And  harp'd  in  banquets  a  melodious  name. 
Delian  and  Pataraean  king  1 
Phoebus !   that  lovest  Castalia's  fount, 
Flowing  round  Parnassus'  mount, 
Hear  what  now  I  sing: 
„       Lay  it  within  thy  soul  to  distant  time: 
And  let  Sicilia's  clime, 
As  now,  with  men  heroic  spring. 

III.  1. 

For  from  the  gods  descend 

All  high  designs,  that  here  on  earth 

Point  the  virtues  to  their  end: 

The  wise  of  thought,  the  strong  of  hand, 

The  eloquent  of  tongue, 

Not  from  ourselves  are  sprung, 

But  from  a  secret  and  divine  command 

Are  usher'd  into  birth. 

Now,  while  the  hope  within  me  stirs,  to  praise 

That  man  of  victory, 

While  in  my  poising  grasp  I  raise 

The  brass-tipp'd  javelin  high  : 

Let  it  not  wide-starting  stray ; 

But  speeding  on  its  way' 

Far  overleap  each  rival's  cast : 

Time !   let  the  future,  as  the  past, 

Felicity  bestowj 

And  bid  the  source  of  bounty  flow, 

And  sickness  in  oblivion  lay. 

III.     2. 

In  memory's  blazon'd  roll 
Shall  rise  the  struggle  of  the  battle-hour ; 
When  fought  the  gods  on  Hiero's  side: 
And  firm  in  fortitude  of  soul, 
He  cropp'd,  with  Gelo,  glory's  flower ; 
Gathering  o'er  every  Greek  renown, 
And  winning  wealthy  empire's  gorgeous  crown: 
'Twas  then  a  mighty  man  appeal'd 
To  his  high  will,  and  sooth'd  with  friendly  name 
Though  with  delaying  step  he  came 
Like  Philoctetes,  to  the  field- 

9 


130  PINDAR.  [LECT.  V. 

Tie  sung  in  ancient  lore, 

"While  Philoctetes  nursed  tea  rankling  wound, 

Heroes  divine  that  archer  found, 

And  drew  from  Lemnos'  shore. 

» 

III.  3. 

By  him  Troy-towers  should  fall  from  high 

And  heap  the  dusty  soil ; 

And  thus  should  end  the  Grecians'  toil; 

Though  faintly  bow'd  with  his  disabling  wound 

Faltering  he  trod  the  ground ; 

For  it  was  written  thus  in  Destiny. 

May  the  healing  god  appear 

To  Hiero,  onwards  as  the  moments  creep, 

Lull  his  grief  and  pain  to  sleep ; 

Bid  speed  the  wishes  of  his  soul ; 

And  his  frame  from  sickness  rear. 

Muse  again  my  voice  obey  : 

This  strain  for  Hiero's  chariot-victory  won, 

Sing  to  Dinomeues  the  son: 

Not  with  averted  ear 

Shall  he  a  father's  triumph  hear : 

Come  then;   for  him  that  shall  o'er  JEtna  sway, 

Meditate  the  pleasing  lay. 

IV.  1. 

That  city  founded  strong 

In  liberty  divine, 

Measured  -by  the  Spartan  line, 

Has  Hiero  'stablish'd  for  his  heritage : 

To  whose  firm-planted  colony  belong 

Their  mother-country's  laws, 

From  many  a  distant  age: 

The  Dorian  race,  that  draws 

From  Pamphylus  and  th'  Heraclidse  old 

The  blood  that  circles  in  its  veins, 

Dwelling  beneath  Taygetus'  high  hills, 

In  wise  ^Egimius'  statutes  firm  remains, 

Fix'd  to  their  great  forefathers'  will: 

They,,  by  high  Fortune  led, 

Vast  Pindus'  ridgy  head 

O'erpats'd,  and  in  Amyclae  held  their  seat: 

And  the  twin-brothers  near, 

In  neighboring  Argos  rode 

On  snowy  coursers  fleet; 

"Whose  glory  flourishing  in  blossom,  showM 

While  firm  they  couch'd  the  spear. 

IV.     2. 

Jovel    grant  that  such  renown 

Be  theirs,  the  people  and  the  kings 

Dwelling  by  clear  Amena's  springs : 


522A.C.]  PINDAR.  131 

The  laws  and  liberties,  whose  fame  has  hung 

On  every  human  tongue, 

These  let  them  judge  themselves,  and  know  them  for  their  own. 

Guide  to  virtue  \    train'd  by  thee 

Let  this  thy  son  his  people  turn  again 

To  concord's  peaceful  ways ; 

Bound  till  his  silver-hair'd  decline  of  days 

In  mutual  order's  chain. 

Father !    I  pray  thee  give  the  nod  of  Fate : 

Let  the  Phoenician  rest  at  peace 

Within  his  turret ;  let  the  Tuscan  shout 

Of  yelling  battle  cease ; 

Who  saw  at  Cuma  late 

Their  navy's  wreck  and  rout. 

IV.  3. 
That  leader  of  the  Syracusan  host 

With  gallies  swiftly-rushing  them  pursued ; 

And  they  his  onset  rued : 

When  on  the  Cuman  coast 

We  dash'd  their  youth  in  gulpby  waves  below 

And  rescued  Greece  from  heavy  servitude. 

My  strain  might  grasp  the  Salaminian  day 

When  Athens  fray'd  the  Persian  foe ; 

And  glory  should  her  act  repay: 

Let  Sparta  tell 

How,  at  Cithseron's  foot  the  Medians  fell, 

And  cast  their  crooked  bows  away: 

But  first  my  harp  should  sound  the  lay 

Of  the  banks  of  Himera's  stream, 

Whose  waters  limpid  flow : 

Dinomenes'  brave  sons  absorb  my  theme, 

Whose  valor  quell'd  the  Punic  foe. 

V.  1. 

The  seasonable  speech 

Grasping  in  narrow  space  the  sum  of  things, 
Draws  less  the  biting  obloquy 
Of  man's  invidious  tongue; 
But  swoll'n  satiety 
Fastidious  loathing  brings, 

The  hearer's  thoughts  quick  soar  beyond  its  reach 
And  fame  sheds  secret  gall 
In  citizens  with  envy  stung 
At  others'  noble  deeds: 
Yet  better  envy,  than  the  tear  let  fall 
By  pity  o'er  the  ills  corruption  breeds : 
t  Then  pass  not  virtue  by ; 
In  steady  justice  bold 
The  nation's  ruddy  hold ;    ^ 
Govern'd  and  guided  still; 
And  shape  thy  tongue  and  will 
On  the  forge  of  verity. 


132  PINDAR.  [LECT.  V 

Y.    2. 

The  lighest  word  that  falls  from  thee,  oh  king! 
Becomes  a  mighty  and  momentous  thing: 
O'er  many  placed,  as  arbiter  on  high, 
Many  thy  goings  watchful  see ; 
Thy  ways  on  every  side 
A  host  of  faithful  witnesses  descry: 
Then  let  thy  liberal  temper  be  thy  guide: 
If  ever  to  thine  ear 
Fame's  softest  whisper  yet  was  dear, 
Stint  not  thy  bounty's  flowing  tide; 
Stand  at  the  helm  of  state:    full  to  the  gale 
Spread  thy  wide-gathering  sail. 
Friend!    let  not  plausive  avarice  spread 
Its  lures  to  tempt  thee  from  the  path  of  fame : 
For  know,  the  glory  of  a  name 
Follows  the  mighty  dead. 

V.    3. 

Praise  lights  the  beaten  road 

Which  the  departed  trod, 

And  gilds  the  speaker's  tongue,  the  poet's  lays; 

Not  Croesus1  virtue  mild  decays ; 

But  hateful  Fame  shall  ever  cling 

To  Phalaris,  him  merciless  of  mind, 

"Who  in  the  brazen  bull's  rebellowing  void 

Bum'd  with  the  flame  his  kind: 

Never  ^for  him  the  social  roof  shall  ring 

With  sounds  of  harps  in  descant  sweet: 

Ne'er  has  his  name  em  ploy 'd 

The  tongue  o;'  boys,  that  prattling  tales  repeat . 

The  virtuous  deed 

In  honor's  highest  meed: 

That  deed's  recorded  fame 

Next  touches  with  delight  the  human  ear: 

The  man  that  thus  shall  act  and  hear, 

May  the  crown  of  glory  claim. 

To  this  splendid  ode  we  add  the  following  extracts  from  other  odes, 
and  shall  then  close  our  notice  of  this  great  poet  with  a  fragment  on  see- 
ing the  sun  under  an  eclipse : 


FROM  THE   SECOND   OLYMPIC. 

FUTURE   PUNISHMENT   AND    REWARD. 

The  deeds  that  stubborn  ^mortals  do 

In  this  disordered  nook  of  Jove's  domain, 

All  find  their  meed,  and  there's  a  judge  below 
Whose  hateful  doom  inflicts  th'  inevitable  pain. 


622A.C.]  PINDAR.  133 

O'er  the  Good,  soft  suns  awhile, 

Through  the  mild  day,  the  night  serene, 
Alike  with  cloudless  lustre  smile, 

Tempering  all  the  tranquil  scene. 
Their's  is  leisure ;  vex  not  they 
Stubborn  soil  or  watery  way, 
To  wring  from  toil  want's  worthless  bread: 
No  ills  they  know,  nor  tears  they  shed, 
But  with  the  glorious  gods  below 
Ages  of  peace  contented  share : 
Meanwhile  the  Bad,  in  bitterest  woe, 
Eye-startling  tasks,  and  endless  tortures  bear. 

All,  whose  steadfast  virtue  thrice 

Each  side  the  grave  unchanged  hath  stood, 
Still  unseduced,  unstained  with  vice, — 

They»  by  Jove's  mysterious  road, 
Pass  to  Saturn's  realm  of  rest, 
Happy  isle,  that  holds  the  Blest; 
Where  sea-born  breezes  gently  blow 
O'er  blooms  of  gold  that  round  them  glow, 
Which  nature  boon  from  stream  or  strand 
Or  goodly  tree  profusely  showers ; 
Whence  pluck  they  many  a  fragrant  band, 
And  braid  their  locks  with  never-fading  flowers. 


FROM  THE  FOURTEENTH  OLYMPIC. 

TO    THE   ORCHOMENIAN   GRACES,    IN   BEHALF    OF   THE   BOY   ASOPHICHUS. 

0  ye,  ordained  by  lot  to  dwell 

Where  Cephisian  waters  well; 

And  hold  your  fair  retreat 

Mid  herds  of  coursers  beautiful  and  fleet ; 

Renowned  queens,  that  take  your  rest 

In  Orchomenus  the  blest, 

Guarding  with  ever  wakeful  eye 

The  Minyans'  high-born  progeny; 

To  you  my  votive  strains  belong; 

List,  Graces,  to  your  suppliant's  song. 

For  all  delightful  things  below, 

All  sweet,  to  you  their  being  owe; 

And  at  your  hand  their  blessings  share 

The  wise,  the  splendid,  and  the  fair. 

Nor  without  the  holy  Graces, 
The  gods,  in  those  supernal  places, 
Their  dances  or  their  Jbanquets  rule; 
Dispensers  they  of  all  above 
Throughout  the  glorious  court  of  Jove : 
Where  each  has  plac'd  her  sacred  stool 


134  PINDAR.  [LECT.  V. 

By  the  golden-bow'd  Apollo, 

Whom  in  his  harpings  clear  they  follow; 

And  the  high  majestic  state 

Of  their  Eternal  Father  venerate. 

Daughters  of  heav'n  ; — Aglaia,  thou 
Darting  splendors  from  thy  brow; 
With  musical  Euphrosyne, — 
Be  present.     Nor  less  call  I  thee, 
Tuneful  Thalia,  to  look  down 
On  this  joyous  rout,  and  own 
Me  their  bard,  who  lead  along, 
For  Asophichus,  the  throng 
Tripping  light  to  Lydian  song; 
And  Minya  for  thy  sake  proclaim 
Conqueress  in  the  Olympic  game. 

Waft,  Echo,  now,  thy  wing  divine 
To  the  black  dome  of  Proserpine; 
And  marking  Cleodamus  there, 
.  Tell  the  glad  tidings  ; — how  his  son, 

For  him,  hath  crown'd  his  youthful  hair 
With  plumes  in  Pisa's  valley  won. 


FROM  THE  THIRD  NEMEAN. 
INNATE     WORTH. 

Great  is  the  power  of  inbred  noblenest : 
But  he,  that  all  he  hath  to  schooling  owes, 
A  shallow  wight  obscure, 
Plants  not  his  step  secure ; 
Feeding  vain  thoughts  on   phantoms  numberless, 
Of  genuine  excellence  mere  outward  shows. 

In  Phillyra's  house,  a  flaxen  boy, 
Achilles  oft  in  rapturous  joy 
His  feats  of  strength  essay'd. 
Aloof,  like  wind,  his  little  javelin  flew ; 
The  lion  and  the  brindled  boar  he  slew, 
Then  homeward  to  old  Chiron  drew 
Their  panting  carcasses. 
This,  when  six  years  had  fled. 
And  all  the  after  time 
Of  his  rejoicing  prime, 
It  was  to  Dian  and  the  blue-eyed  maid, 
A  wonder  how  he  brought  to  ground 
The  stag  without  or  toils  or  hound : 
So  fleet  of  foot  was  he. 


522A.C.J  PINDAR.  135 

FROM  THE  EIGHTH  NEMEAN. 

A   PRAYER    FOR   A    GUILELESS   AND   BENEVOLENT   DISPOSHION. 

Hateful  of  old  the  glozing  plea, 
With  bland  imposture  at  his  side, 
Still  meditating  guile ; 
Fill'd  with  reproaches  vile; 
Who  pulls  the  splendid  down, 
And  bids  th'  obscure  in  fest'ring  glory  shine. 

Such  temper  far  remove,  0  Father  Jove,  from  me. 
The  simple  paths  of  life  be  mine ; 
That  when  this  being  I  resign, 
I  to  my  children  may  bequeath 
A  name  they  shall  not  blush  to  hear. 
Others  for  gold  the  vow  may  breathe, 
Or  lands  that  see  no  limit  near : 
But  fain  would  I  live  out  my  days, 
Beloved  by  those  with  whom  they're  past, 
In  mine  own  city,  till  at  last 
In  earth  my  limbs  are  clad; 
Still  praising  what  is  worthy  praise, 
But  scatt'ring  censure  on  the  bad. 
For  virtue  by  the  wise  and  just 
Exalted,  grows  up  like  a  tree, 
That  springeth  from  the  dust, 
And  by  the  green  dews  fed, 
Doth  raise  aloft  her  head, 
And  in  the  blithe  air  waves  her  branches  free. 


A  FRAGMENT. 

TO  THE  SUN  UNDER  AN  ECLIPSE. 

Beam  of  the  sun,  heaven-watcher,  thou  whose  glance 
Lights  far  and  wide,  unveil  to  me,  unveil 
Thy  brow,  that  once  again  mine  eye  may  hail 

The  lustre  of  thy  cloudless  countenance. 

Surpassing  star !   why  thus  at  noon  of  day 

Withdrawing,  would'st  thou  mar 

Man's  stalwart  strength,  and  bar 
With  dark  obstruction  Wisdom's  winding  way  ? 

Lo!   on  thy  chariot-track 

Hangs  midnight  pitchy-black ; 

While  thou,  from  out  thine  ancient  path  afar, 

Hurriest  thy  belated  car. 


136  PINDAR. 

But  thee,  by  mightiest  Jove,  do  I  implo 
O'er  Thebes  thy  fleet  steeds'  flight 
To  rein,  with  presage  bright 

Of  plenteousness  and  peace  forevermore. 

Fountain  of  Light ! — 0  venerated  Power  1 — 

To  all  of  earthly  line 

A  wonder  and  a  sign, 
"What  terror  threatenest  thou  at  this  dread  hour  ? 

Doom  of  battle  dost  thou  bring; 
Or  cankerous  blight,  fruit-withering; 
Or  crushing  snow  showers'  giant  weight; 
Or  factions,  shatter  ers  of  the  State : 

Or  breaching  seas  poured  o'er  the  plain; 
Or  frost  that  fettereth  land  and  spring ; 
Or  summer  daak,  whose  drenching  wing 

Droops  heavily  with  rain? 

Such  fate,  portendeth  such,  thy  gloomy  brow  ? 

Or,  deluging  beneath  the  imprison'd  deep, 
This  earth  once  more,  man's  infant  race  wilt  thou, 

Afresh  from  off  the  face  of  nature  sweep  ? 


Kntun  tju   $i 

ONXDMACRITUS.  —  B  ACCHYLIDES.  —  EMPEDOCLES.  —  EUENUS.  —  ARI- 

PHRON.-iSIMMIAS.— CALLISTRATUS.— PLATO.— ARISTOTLE.— 

MNASALCUS.— HYBRIAS.—  HERMESIANAX.— PERSES. 


ONOMACRITUS,  the  next  poet  to  be  noticed,  occupies  an  interesting 
position  in  the  history  of  the  early  Greek  religious  poetry.  He  was 
a  native  of  Athens,  and  was  born  in  that  city  540  A.C.  His  profession 
was  that  of  a  priest  and  soothsayer  ;  and  by  virtue  of  his  sacred  office  he 
had  access  to  the  secret  archives  of  the  city,  and  there  pretended  to  dis- 
cover some  oracular  verses,  which  he  attributed  to  Orpheus  and  Musseus 
These  verses  he  was  in  the  habit  of  reciting  in  the  public  assemblies  of 
the  people  for  pecuniary  emoluments,  and  by  this  means  he  acquired 
great  wealth.  This  practice  he  continued  for  a  number  of  years ;  and  as 
the  tyrant  Hipparchus  was  his  personal  friend,  his  intimacy  with  royalty, 
and  his  identity  with  the  priestly  office,  long  shielded  him  from  public 
exposure. 

At  length,  however,  Lasus  of  Hermione,  the  dithyrambic  poet, — a 
philosopher,  and  a  man  of  great  boldness  and  spirit,  publicly  charged 
him  with  having  forged  these  verses,  and  with  issuing  them  to  the  people, 
to  effect  his  own  sordid  and  selfish  purposes.  As  this  charge  was  made 
by  a  citizen  of  exalted  position  and  commanding  character,  the  king  was 
compelled  to  take  notice  of  it ;  and  Onomacritus  was  accordingly  brought 
to  trial,  condemned,  and  sentenced  to  perpetual  banishment. 

On  being  banished  from  Athens,  Onomacritus  retired  into  Thessaly,  and 
there,  through  his  artful  .and  insinuating  conduct  and  manners,  he  soon 
raised  himself  to  a  position  of  so  much  importance  that,  when  the  Thessa- 
lians  invited  Xerxes,  king  of  Persia,  to  invade  and  subjugate  Greece,  he 
formed  one  of  the  commissioners  sent  to  the  Persian  court  for  that  purpose. 
He  is  said  to  have  stimulated  the  king  to  that  undertaking,  by  reciting  to 
him  all  the  ancient  oracles  which  seemed  to  favor  the  attempt,  and  sup- 
pressing those  of  an  opposite  tendency.  The  embassy  succeeded,  and 
Onomacritus  having  thus,  as  he  supposed,  wreaked  his  vengeance  upon 
his  native  country,  returned  to  Thessaly ;  but  there,  soon  after,  sunk  into 


0*  TH» 


138  ONOMACRITUS.  [Lscr.  VI. 

that  contempt  and  final  obscurity,  which  the  baseness  of  his  conduct  had 
so  richly  merited.  The  period  of  his  death,  according  to  Herodotus, 
was  485  A.C. ;  but  no  particulars  of  his  life,  after  the  Persian  embassy, 
have  been  preserved. 

Many  disquisitions  have  been  written  for  the  purpose  of  determining 
whether  Onomacritus  was,  or  was  not,  the  author  of  the  poems  which  he 
ascribed  to  Orpheus  and  Musaeus.  Without  entering  more  particularly 
into  this  vexed  question,  we  may  here  remark  that,  according  to  Herodo- 
tus, he  was  an  utterer  of  ancient  oracles,  however  preserved,  and  that  he 
had  made  a  collection  and  arrangement  of  the  oracles  ascribed  to  Musseus. 
And  this  is  entirely  in  keeping  with  the  literary  character  of  the  age  in 
which  he  lived,  and  with  other  traditions  respecting  Onomacritus  him- 
self ;  as,  for  instance,  that  he  made  interpolations  in  Homer  as  well  as 
in  Musseus,  and  that  he  was  the  real  author  of  some  of  fiie  poems  which 
went  under  the  name  of  Orpheus. 

It  is  evident,  however,  that  his  literary  character  must  be  regarded  as 
quite  subordinate  to  his  religious  position ;  and  that  he  was  not  a  poet 
who  cultivated  the  art  for  its  own  sake,  but  a  priest,  who  availed  himself 
of  the  ancient  religious  poems  for  the  support  of  the  worship  to  which  he 
was  attached.  Of  what  character  that  worship  was,  may  be  seen  from 
the  statement  of  Pausanias-,  that  i  Onomacritus,  taking  from  Homer  the 
name  of  the  Titans,  established  orgies  to  Dionysus,  and  represented  in 
his  poems  the  Titans  as  the  authors  of  the  sufferings  of  Dionysus.' 
Here  we  have  the  great  Orphic  myth  of  Dionysus  Zagreus,  whose  worship, 
it  thus  seems,  was  either  established  or  re-arranged  by  Onomacritus, 
who  must,  therefore,  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  chief  leaders  of  the  Or- 
phic theology,  and  the  Orphic  societies. 

The  poem  which  Onomacritus  pretended  had  been  written  by  Orpheus, 
was  a  description  of  the  Argonautic  Expedition.  That  he  fabricated  the 
work  himself  there  can  be  no  doubt ;  and  the  probability  is  that  he  was 
in  possession  of  certain  genuine  Orphic  fragments,  which  he  used  as  the 
ground- work  of  his  fabrication.  The  Argonautics,  in  their  antique  air, 
resemble  the  first  simple  outline  of  an  epic  poem — the  first  rough  attempt 
to  record  in  verse  an  heroic  action.  The  poem,  so  far  as  the  conduct 
of  the  fable  is  concerned,  is  almost  entirely  destitute  of  poetic  art :  it  is 
a  mere  diary  of  adventures,  without  complicated  interest,  and  without  the 
intricate  display  of  powerful  passion.  The  narration  is  conducted  in  the 
person  of  Orpheus  himself,  naturally  -and  unambitiously ;  and  is  pleasing 
from. its  artlessness.  The  poet  does  little  more  than  describe — but  he 
describes  forcibly  \  and  has  happily  imitated  the  strong  and  grand  sim- 
plicity of  a  rude  bard.  The  cave  of  Chiron  is  a  fine,  romantic  picture ; 
and  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  king  of  Colchis,  in  his  chariot,  with  his 
two  daughters,  is  conceived  with  uncommon  spirit  and  splendor  of  fancy. 

What  part  Onomacritus  may  have  taken  in  the  construction  of  the 


520  A.C.]  ONOMACRITTJS.  139 

hymns  interspersed  throughout  the  poem,  is  very  uncertain ;  but,  as 
hymns  are  among  the  first  essays  of  barbarous  poetry,  and  are  more 
easily  perpetuated  than  any  other,,  from  the  sacredness  and  frequency  of 
religious  rites,  it  is  very  probable  that  part  of  these  hymns  belong  to  the 
genuine  Orphic  era.  Certainly,  their  style  is  still  more  ancient  than  that 
of  the  Argonautics.  The  shorter  ones  are  mere  invocations,  made  up  of 
titular  attributes,  and  adapted  to  certain  sacrificial  ceremonies.  Some 
passages  among  the  Orphic  fragments  embrace  a  sublime  and  mystical 
theology,  which  seem  connected  with  a  period,  when  the  unity  of  the 
object  of  worship  was  still  kept  in  view,  through  all  its  divisions  and 
ramifications,  among  the  parts  of  nature.  Others  are  supposed  to  have 
been  interpolated  by  the  pious  fraud  of  Jewish  or  Christian  theologians. 
The  poems  on  stones  are  curious  monuments  of  an  old  Greek  superstition, 
— common,  also,  with  the  Arabians, — which  ascribes  to  gems  certain 
healing  virtues  and  magical  properties.  Their  cast  is  not  so  ancient  as 
that  of  the  other  poems. 


FROM  THE  ARGONAUTICS' 

VISIT    TO    THE    ARGONAUTS    CAVE    OF    CH 

Then  with  a  whistling  breeze  did  Juno  fill  the  sail, 

And  Argo,  self-impell'd,  shot  swift  before  the  gale. 

The  kings  with  nerve  and  heart  the  oar  unwearied 

Plough'd  by  the  keel,  foam'd  white  th'  immeasurable 

But  when  from  Ocean's'  streams  the  sacred  dawn  appear'd, 

And  morning's  pleasant  light  both  Gods  and  mortals  cheer'd, 

Then,  from  the  shore,  the  rocks  and  windy  summits  high 

Of  wood-topt  Pelion  -rear'd  their  beacon  midst  the  sky. 

The  helm,  with  both  his  hands,  the    pilot    Tiphys  held; 

The  vessel  cut  the  wave,  with  quiet  course  impell'd ; 

Then  swift  they  near'd  the  shore ;  the  wooden  ladder  cast, 

And  forth  the  heroes  leap'd,  relieved  fro^n  labors  past. 

Then  to  the  circling  throng  the  horseman  Peleus  cried  ; 

'Mark,  friends!  yon  shadowing  crag,  midway  the  mountain  side: 

There  Chiron  dwells,  most  just  of  all  the  Centaur  race, 

That  haunt  high  Pelion's  top ;  a  cave  his  dwelling-place. 

He  there  awards  the  right,  or  heals  the  body's  pains; 

And  chaunts  to  neighboring  tribes,  oracular,  his  strains. 

To  Phoebus'  chorded  harp  the  laws,  in  wisdom,  sings, 

Or  Hermes'  hollow  lute,  of  shell  sonorous,  strings ; 

And  therefore  Thetis  came,  with  silver  feet,  to  trace 

High  Pelion's  waving  woods,  my  babe  in  her  embrace; 

And  here  to  Chiron's  hands  the  new-born  infant  brought, 

To  cherish  with  a  father's  eye,  and  rear  with  prudent  thought. 

Indulge  my  longing,  fi-ieuds  !    with  me  the  cavern  tread  ; 

To  mark  how  fares  mv  boy  ;   how  gifted,  and  how  bred.' 

He  trod  the  beaten  path ;   we  follow'd  where  he  led. 

We  enter'd  straight  a  grot,  of  gloomy  twilight  shade ; 

There,  on  a  lonely  couch,  the  centaur  huge  was  laid. 


140  ONOMACRITUS.  [LECT.  VI 

At  length  unmeasured  stretch'd,  his  rapid  legs  were  thrown, 

And,  shod  with  horny  hoofs,  reclin'd  upon  the  stone. 

The  boy  Achilles  stood,  erect,  beside  the  sire; 

And  smote  with  pliant  hand  the  spirit-soothing  lyre. 

But  when  the  Centaur  saw  the  noble  kings  appear, 

He  rose  with  courteous  art,  and  kiss'd,  and  brought  them  dainty  cheer. 

The  wine  in  beakers    served,   the  branchy  couches  spread 

With  scatter'd  leaves,  and  placed  each  guest  upon  his  bed. 

In  dishes  rude  the  flesh  of  boars  and  stags  bestow'd ; 

While  draughts  of  luscious  wine  in  equal  measure  flow'd. 

But  now,  when  food  and  drink  had  satisfied  the  heart, 

With  loud,  applauding '  hands  they  urged  my  minstrel's  art : 

That  I,  in  contest  match'd  against  the  Centaur  sire, 

Should,  to  some  wide-famed  strain,  attune  the  wringing  lyre. 

But  I,  averse,  forbore  in  contest  to  engage, 

And  blush'd,  that  youth  should  vie  with  more  experienced  age. 

Till  Chiron  joined  the   wish,   himself  prepared  to  sing ; 

And  forced  me  to  contend,  reluctant,  'on  the.  string. 

Achilles  stretch'd  his  hand,  and  gave  the  beauteous  shell, 

Which  Chiron  took,  and  sang  the  Centaur  combat  fell: 

How  them  the  Lapithae  for  daring  outrage  slew ; 

How,  mad  with  strength  of  wine,  'gainst  Hercules  they  flew; 

And  him,  on  Pholoe's  mount,  to  stubborn  conflict  drew. 

I  next  the  lute  received,  of  echo  sweet  and  shrill, 

And  bade  my  breathing  lips  their  honor'd  song  distil. 

In  dark  and  mystic  hymn  I  sang  of  Chaos  old, 

How  the  disparted  elements  in  round  alternate  roll'd; 

Heaven  flow'd  through  boundless  space  ;   and  earth  her  teeming  train 

Fed  from  her  ample  breast,  and  deep  in  whirlpools  heaved  the  mam, 

I  sang  of  elder  Love,  who,  self-sufficing,  wrought 

Creation's  differing  forms  with  many-counsell'd  thought. 

Of  baneful  Saturn  next ;  and  how  the  heaves  above 

Fell  with  its  regal  sway  to  thunder-launching  Jove. 

I  sang  the  younger  gods,  whence  rose  their  various  birth, 

How  spread  their  sep'rate  powers  through  sea.,  and  air,  and  earth. 

Of  Brimus  and  of  Bacchus  last,  and  giants'  mystic  fame, 

And  whence  man's  weaker  race  arose,  of  many-nation'd  name. 

Through  winding  cavities,  that  scoop'd  the  rocky  cell, 

With  tone  sonorous  thrill'd  my  sweetly  vocal  shell. 

High  Pelion's  mountain  heads,  and  woody  valleys  round, 

And;  all  his  lofty  oaks  remurmur'd  to  the  sound. 

His  oaks  uprooted  rush,  and  all  tumultuous  wave 

Around  the  darken'd  mouth  of  Chiron's  hollow  cave. 

The  rocks  re-echo  shrill ;   the  beasts  of  forest  wild 

Stand  at  the  cavern's  mouth,  in  listening  trance  beguiled: 

The  birds  surround  the  den ;   and,  as  in  weary  rest, 

They  drop  their  fluttering  wings,  forgetful  of  the  nest, 

Amazed  the  Centaur  saw ;   his  clapping  hands  he  beat ; 

And  stamp'd  in  ecstacy  the  rock  with  hoof'd  and  horny  feet. 

When  Tiphys  threads  the  cave,  and  bids  the  Minyan  train 

To  hurry  swift  on  board ;  and  thus  I  ceased  my  strain. 

The  Argonauts  leap'd  up  in  haste,  and  snatch'd  their  arms  again. 


620A.C.]  ONOMACRITUS.  141 

Then  Peleus  to  his  breast  the  boy,  embracing,  rears ; 

Kissing  his  head,  and  beauteous  eyes,  and  smiling  through  his  tears : 

Achilles  so  was  soothed;   and,  as  I  left  the  cave, 

A  leopard's  spotted  skin,  in  pledge,  the  Centaur  gave. 

Forth  from  the  den  we  sprang,  down  from  the  mountain  high ; 

The  aged  Centaur  spread  his  raised  hands  toVrds  the  sky: 

And  call'd  on  all  the  gods  a  safe  return  to  give, 

That  famed  in  ages,  yet  unborn,  the  youthful  kid|s  might  live. 

Descending  to  the  shore,  we  climb'd  the  bark  again; 

Each  press'd  his  former  bench,  and  lash'd  with  oar  the  main; 

Huge  .Pelion's  mountain  swift  receded  from  our  view, 

>'*r  vast  ocean's  green  expanse  the  foam  white-chafing  flew. 


FROM  THE  ORPHIC  REMAINS. 

I. 

One  self- existent  lives :  created  things 
krise  from  him ;  and  he  is  all  in  all. 
N"o  mortal  sight  may  see  him;  yet  himself 
Sees  all  that  live.    He  out  of  good  can  bring 
Evil  to  men  :   dread  battle  ;   tearful  woes  ; 
•He,  and  no  other.    Open  to  thy  sight 
Were  all  the  chain  of  things,  could'st  thou  behold 
The  Godhead,  ere  as  yet  he  stepp'd  on  earth. 
My  son !   I  will  display  before  thine  eyes. 
His  footsteps,  and  his  mighty  hand  of  power. 
Himself  I  cannot  see.     The  rest  is  veil'd 
In  clouds;   and  tenfold  darkness  intercepts 
His  presence.    None  discerns  the*  Lord  of  men, 
But  he,  the  sole-begotten,  of  the  tribe 
Of  old  Chaldaeans:   he,  to  whom  was  known 
The  path  of  stars,  and  how  the  moving  sphere 
Rolls  round  this  earth,  in  equal  circle  framed, 
Self-balanced  on 'her  centre.     Tis  the  God, 
Who  rules  the  breathing  winds,  that  sweep  around 
The  vault  of  air,  and  round  the  flowing  swell 
Of  the  deep,  watery  element ;  and  shows 
Forth,  from  on  high,  the  glittering  strength  of  flame. 
Himself,  above  the  firmament's  broad  arch, 
Sits,  on  a  throne  of  gold :   the  round  earth  lies 
Under  his  feet.     He  stretches  his  right  hand 
To  th'  uttermost  bounds  of  ocean,  and  the  root 
Of  mountains  trembles  at  his  touch ;  nor  stands 
Before  his  mighty  power.    For  he,  alone, 
All-heavenly  is,  and  all  terrestrial  things 
Are  wrought  by  him.     First,  midst,  and  last,  he  holds 
With  his  omniscient  grasp.     So  speaks  the  lore 
Of  ancient  wisdom :  so  the  man  who  sprang 
Forth  from  the  cradling  waters,  speaks :   who  took 
The  double  tables  of  the  law  from  God ; 
Other  to  speak,  were  impious.     Every  limb 
I  tremble,  and  my  spirit  quakes  within. 


142  ONOMACRITUS.  [LEOT.  VI 

n. 

Jove  is  the  first  and  last ;   who  th'  infant  thunder  hurPd ; 
Jove  is  the  head  and  midst ;  the  framer  of  the  world, 
Jove  is  a  male ;  a  nymph  of  bloom  immortal  Jove : 
Jove  is  the  base  of  earth,  and  starry  heaven  above. 
Jove  is  the  breath  of  all ;   the  force  of  quenchless  flame ; 
The  root  of  jj?cean  Jove;   the  sun  and  moon  the  same. 
Jove  is  the  king,  the  sire,  whence  generation  sprang ; 
One  strength,  one  Demon,  great,  on  whom  all  beings  hang; 
His  regal  body  grasps  the  vast  material  round; 
There  fire,  earth,  air,  and  wave,  and  day,  and  night  are  found; 
Wisdom,  first  maker,  there,  and  joy-prolific  Love ; 
All  these  concentering  fill  the  mighty  frame  of  Jove. 


III. 

Hear  me,  thou  1  forever  whirling  round  the  rolling  Heavens  on  high  1 
Thy  far-travelling  orb  of  splendor,  midst  the  whirlpools  of  the  sky  1 
Hear,  effulgent  Jove,  and  Bacchus  1    father  both  of  earth  and  sea ! 
Sun  all-various !  golden-beaming !   all  things  teeming  out  of  thee  1 


TO  THE  MOON. 

FROM   THE    HYMNS. 

Heavenly  Selene  !  goddess  queen  !  that  shedd'st  abroad  thy  light ! 
Bull-horned  moon !   air-habiting !   thou  wanderer  through  the  night  1 
Moon,  bearer  of  the  nightly  torch !    thou  star-eiicircled  maid  1 
Female,  at  once,  and  male  the  same ;   still  fresh,  and  still  decay'd ! 
Thou!   that  in  thy  steeds  delightest,  as  they  whirl  thee  through  the  skyl 
Clothed  in  brigthness  !   mighty  mother  of-  the  rapid  years  that  fly  1 
Fruit-dispenser  !   amber- visaged  !   melancholy,  yet  serene  ! 
All-beholding  1   sleep-enamor'd !   still  with  trooping  planets  seen  1 
Quiet-loving  1   who  in  pleasaunce,  and  in  plenty  takes  delight ! 
Joy-diffusing  !    fruit-maturing !   sparkling  ornament  of  night ! 
Swiftly-pacing!    ample-vested!   star-bright!    all-divining  maid  ! 
Come  benignant !   come  spontaneous !   with  thy  starry  sheen  array'd  I 
Sweetly-shining !   save  us,  virgin !   give  thy  holy  suppliants  aid  1 


FROM  THE  LITHICS. 

Th'  immortal  Gods  will  view  thee  with  delight, 
If  thou  should'st  hold  the  agate,  branching  bright 
With  veins,  like  many  a  tree,  that  rears  its  head 
In  some  fair  garden,  with  thick  boughs  bespread : 
As  the  tree-agate,  thus  to  mortals  known, 
In  part  a  branchy  wood ;  in  part  a  stone. 
If  on  thy  oxen's  horns  this  gem  be  bound, 
When  with  the  cleaving  share  they  turn  the  ground; 


500  A.C.J  BACCHYLIDES.  143 

Or  on  th'  unwearied  ploughman's  shoulder  borne, 
Then  shall  thy  furrows  spring  with  thickening  corn : 
Full-bosom'd  Ceres,  with  the  wheaten  crown, 
Shall  lean  from  Heaven,  and  scatter  harvests  down. 

Bacchylides,  another  of  the  distinguished  lyric  poets  of  this  period,  was 
a  native  of  the  island  of  Ceos,  and  was  a  nephew  as  well  as  fellow- 
townsman  of  the  celebrated  Simonides,  of  whom  we  have  already  spoken. 
Eusebius  places  his  birth  in  450  A. C. ;  but  this  must  evidently  be  a  mis- 
take, as  Hiero  of  Syracuse,  at  whose  court  the  poet  past  many  years  of 
his  life,  died  in  467  A.C.  The  probability  is,  therefore,  Bacchylides  was 
born  about  500  A.C. 

Bacchylides  belonged  to  a  family  in  which,  as  was  so  often  the  case, 
poetry  was  followed  as  an  hereditary  profession.  His  father  is  variously 
called  Medon,  Meidon,  and  Meidylus ;  and  his  paternal  grandfather  was 
the  athlete  Bacchylides.  Of  his  life  we  have  no  farther  knowledge  than 
that  he  early  left  his  native  island,  and  repaired  to  the  court  of  Syracuse, 
whither  his  uncle  Simonides  had  already  preceded  him.  He  soon  be- 
came a  very  great  favorite  of  Hiero,  who  is  said  to  have  preferred  his 
Pythian  odes  to  those  of  Pindar.  On  what  principle  this  preference 
could  have  been  founded  it  is,  however,  very  difficult  to  perceive ;  for  in 
sublimity,  the  chief  characteristic  of  the  Pythian  ode,  he  was  incompara- 
bly Pindar's  inferior.  The  probability  is,  that  he  was  more  deferential 
in  his  conduct,  and  more  obsequious  in  his  disposition. 

The  few  relics  extant  of  the  numerous  and  various  poems  of  Bacchy- 
lides, exhibit  polish,  correctness,  delicacy,  and  ornament,  but  nothing  of 
the  fire  and  fervor  of  Pindar :  his  excellence  was  the  result  of  education 
rather  than  of  natural  poetic  inspiration.  The  period  of  his  death,  and 
the  circumstances  attending  that  event,  have  not  been  preserved  ;  but  it 
is  probable  that  he  passed  at  Syracuse  all  the  closing  years  of  his  life. 
The  Roman  emperor  Julian,  so  highly  estimated  the  lyrics  of  Bacchy- 
lides, that  he  not  only  kept  a  copy  of  them  constantly  about  his  person, 
but  drew  from  them  rules  for  the  conduct  of  life.  The  following  speci- 
mens present  all  the  variety  which  the  remains  of  this  poet  contain : 

ANACREONTIC. 

The  goblet's  sweet  compulsion  moves 
The  soften'd  mind  to  melting  loves. 
The  hope  of  Venus  warms  the  soul, 
Mingling  in  Bacchus'  gifted  bowl; 
And  buoyant  lifts  in  lightest  air 
The  soaring  thoughts  of  human  care. 
Who  sips  the  grape,  with  single  blow 
Lays  the  city's  rampire  low ; 
Flush'd  with  the  vision  of  his  mind 
He  acts  the  monarch  o'er  mankind 


144  BACCHYLIDES.  [LECT.  Yl 

His  bright'ning  roofs  now  gleam  on  high, 
All  burnish'd  gold  and  ivory : 
Corn-freighted  ships  from  Egypt's  shore 
"Waft  to  his  feet  the  golden  ore : 
Thus,  while  the  frenzying  draught  he  sips 
His  heart  is  bounding  to  his  lips. 

PEACE. 

Innumerous  are  the  boons  bestowed, 

On  man  by  gracious  Peace! 
The  flowers  of  poets  honey -tongued, 
"    And  wealth's  immense  increase. 
Then  from  the  joyous  altars 

Unto  the  gods  arise 
The  fumes  of  sheep's  and  oxen's  flesh 

In  ruddy  sacrifice : 
In  crowds  to  the  gymnasium 

The  strenuous  youth  resort, 
Or  to  the  pipe  blithe  revellers 

Pursue  their  maddening  sport; 
The  spider  black  doth  weave  his  net 

In  the  iron-handled  shield, 
And  sharp-set  spear  and  two-edged  sword 

To  mouldy  canker  yield; 
No  longer  anywhere  is  heard 

The  trumpet's  blazen  blare, 
From  men's  eyes  soul-delighting  sleep 

At  midnight  sent  to  scare ; 
Banquets,  heap'd  high  with  food  and  wine, 

Are  spread  in  every  street, 
And  songs  from  youthful  companies 

Are  sounding  strong  and  sweet. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  CHILD. 

Alas,  poor  Child!  for  thee  our  bosoms  swell 
With  grief,  tears  cannot  cure,  words  may  not  telL 

THE  HUSBANDMAN'S  OFFERING. 

To  Zephyr,  kindest  wind  that  swells  the  grain, 
Eudemus  consecrates  this  humble  fane; 
For  that  he  listen'd  to  his  vow  ancl  bore 
On  his  soft  wings  the  rich  autumnal  store. 

FRAGMENTS. 

I. 

Virtue,  placed  on  high,  doth  shine 
"With  a  glory  all-divine; 
Riches  oft  alike  are  shower'd 
On  the  hero  and  the  coward. 


600A.C.]  BACCHYLIDES.  145 

n. 

Wise-men  now,  like  those  of  old, 
Can  but  tell  what  others  told. 
Full  hard  it  is  the  hidden  door 
Of  words  unspoken  to  explore. 

ITI. 

Here  let  no  fatted  oxen  be, 
Gold  nor  purple  tapestry: 
But  a  well-disposed  mind ; 
But  a  gentle  muse  and  kind; 
But  glad  wine,  to  glad  our  souls, 
Mantling  in  Boaotian  bowls. 

IV. 

Peaceful  wealth,  or  painful  toil, 
Chance  of  war,  or  civil  broil, 
'Tis  not  for  man's  feeble  race 
These  to  shun  or  those  embrace. 
But   that  all-disposing  Fate, 
Which  presides  o'er  mortal  state, 
Where  it  listeth,  casts  a  shroud 
Of  impenetrable  cloud. 

With  the  death  of  Bacchylides  the  class  of  lyric  poets  to  which  he 
belonged  ended ;  and  more  than  half  a  century  elapsed  before  Greece 
produced  another  lyric,  or  even  fugitive  poet,  whose  eminence  was  suf- 
ficiently great  to  preserve  his  name  from  oblivion.  This  is  attributable 
to  various  circumstances,  the  principal  of  which  were  the  rise  and  extraor- 
dinary influence  of  the  comic  drama,  and  the  all-absorbing  power  of  the 
tragic  muse. 

The  character  of  the  Athenians  was  now  undergoing  a  rapid  change, 
and  that  admiration  for  elevated  and  heroic  conduct,  which  had  so  strik- 
ingly distinguished  them  from  the  commencement  of  the  contest  with  the 
Persians,  until  the  close  of  the  Peloponnesian  war,  and  which  was  the 
constant  theme  of  the  lyric  poets,  was  no  longer  displayed ;  and  hence 
the  entertainments  of  the  theatre,  being  better  suited  to  their  tastes,  and 
to  their  prevailing  habits,  than  were  severe  and  thoughtful  compositions, 
the  poetic  genius  of  the  nation  was  naturally  turned  to  the  comic  stage. 
To  this  subject  our  attention  will  be  more  particularly  directed  in  our 
remarks  upon  the  dramatic  poetry  of  the  Greeks. 

Occasionally,  however,  in  the  midst  of  this  general  absence  of  lyric 
poetry,  out  of  the  tragic  drama,  a  poet  arose  who  had  sufficient  fire  and 
enthusiasm  of  genius  to  resist  the  prevailing  sentiment,  and  to  devote 
himself  to  the  more  pure  and  elevated  purposes  of  the  muse.  To  the 
poets  of  this  class  belong  Empedocles  of  Agrigentum,  Euerius  of  Paros, 
Ariphron  of  Sicyon,  Simmias  of  Thebes,  and  Callistratus  of  Athens. 
But,  unfortunately,  very  few  particulars  of  their  lives  are  now  known,  and 
only  an  occasional  fragment  of  their  poetry  has  been  preserved. 

10 


146  EMPEDOCLES.  [laser.  VI. 

Empedocles  was  the  son  of  Meton,  and  was  born  at  Agrigentum  in 
Sicily  about  455  A.C.  The  easy  circumstances  and  high  rank  of  his 
family,  left  him  at  liberty  to  devote  himself  to  philosophical  studies,  for 
which  he  had,  from  his  youth,  evinced  a  strong  predilection.  He  was  of 
a  noble  and  enthusiastic  nature,  and  abandoning  the  principles  of  the 
tyrannical  government  of  the  rulers  of  his  native  city,  he  manifested  his 
zeal  in  the  establishment  of  political  equality,  by  his  magnanimous  sup- 
port of  the  poor,  by  his  inexorable  severity  in  persecuting  the  overbear- 
ing conduct  of  the  aristocracy,  and  in  his  declining  the  sovereignty  when 
it  was  offered  him. 

His  brilli  an  Moratory,  his  penetrating  knowledge  of  nature  and  of  cir- 
cumstances, and  the  reputation  of  his  marvellous  powers,  which  he  had 
acquired  by  curing  diseases,  by  his  successful  exertion  in  removing 
marshy  districts,  averting  epidemics  and  obnoxious  winds,  spread  a  lus- 
tre around  his  name,  which  induced  Timaeus  and  other  historians  to  men- 
tion him  frequently  as  the  '  averter  and  controller  of  storms.'  The  cir- 
cumstances attending  his  death  are  variously  given.  Heraclides  Pon- 
ticus  represents  him  as  having  been  removed  from  the  earth,  like  a  divine 
being;  and  another  account  makes  him  perish  in  the  flames  of  Mount 
^Etna.  Aristotle,  however,  whose  authority  cannot  be  contested,  asserts 
that  he  spent  a  number  of  the  closing  years  of  his  life  in  Peloponnesus, 
and  there  eventually  died  in  the  sixtieth  year  of  his  age. 

Empedocles  was  an  enthusiast,  both  in  philosophy  and  in  poetry ;  and 
his  great  poem  upon  Nature  bears  the  marks  of  this  enthusiasm,  both  in 
its  epic  language  and  the  nature  of  its  contents.  At  the  beginning  of  it 
he  said,  that  faith  and  divine  will  had  decreed  that,  if  one  of  the  gods 
should  be  betrayed  into  defiling  his  hands  with  blood,  he  should  be  con- 
demned to  wander  about  for  thirty  thousand  years,  far  removed  from  the 
immortals.  He  then  described  himself  to  have  been  exiled  from  heaven, 
for  having  engaged  in  deadly  conflict,  and  committing  murder.  As, 
therefore,  since  the  heroic  times  of  Greece,  a  fugitive  wanderer  required 
an  expiation  and  purification ;  so  a  god  ejected  from  heaven,  and  con- 
demned to  appear  in  the  likeness  of  a  man,  required  some  purification 
that  might  enable  him  to  assume  his  original  high  estate.  This  purifica- 
tion was  supposed  to  be  in  part  accomplished  by  the  lofty  contemplations 
of  the  poem,  which  was  hence — either  wholly  or  in  part — called  a  song 
of  expiation. 

According  to  the  idea  of  the  transmigration  of  souls,  Empedocles  sup- 
posed that,  since  his  exile  from  heaven,  he  had  been  a  shrub,  a  fish,  a 
bird,  a  boy,  and  a  girl.  For  the  present,  *  the  powers  which  conduct 
souls'  had  borne  him  to  the  dark  cavern  of  the  earth  5  and  from  hence 
the  return  to  divine  honors  was  open  to  him,  as  to  seers  and  poets,  and 
other  benefactors  of  mankind.  The  great  doctrine,  that  Love  is  the 
power  which  formed  the  world,  was  probably  announced  to  him  by  the 


460A.CJ  EUENTJS.  147 

Muse  whom  he  invoked,  as  the  secret  by  the  contemplation  of  which  he 
was  to  emancipate  himself  from  all  the  baleful  effects  of  Discord. 

Besides  his  great  poem  on  Nature,  Empedocles  was  the  author  of 
many  minor  poetic  performances,  of  which  two  epigrams  still  remain, 
both  of  which  are  distinguished  by  f  the  use  of  the  rhetorical  figure  called 
Paronomasia  or  Pun.  One  of  these  follows,  and  we  introduce  it  not 
more  on  account  of  the  celebrity  of  the  author,  than  as  an  ancient  speci- 
men of  this  sort  of  writing.  The  pun  consists  in  the  derivation  of  the 
name  Pausanias — a  portion  only,  however,  of  the  double  meaning  of  which 
has  been  preserved  in  the  translation : 

I 

EPITAPH  ON  A  PHYSICIAN. 

Pawsanias — not  so  named  without  a  cause, 

As  one  who  oft  has  given  to  pain  a  pause, — 

Blest  son  of  Esculapius,  good  and  wise, 

Here,  in  his  native  Gela,  buried  lies ; 

Who  many  a  wretch  once  rescued  by  his  charms. 

From  dark  Persephone's  constraining  arms. 

Euenus,  or  Evenus,  was  a  native  of  the  island  of  Paros,  and  was  born 
about  460  A.C,  Plato  frequently  alludes  to  him,  and  sometimes  ironic- 
ally, as  at  once  a  sophist  or  philosopher,  and  a  poet.  He  was  the 
instructor  of  Socrates  in  poetry,  a  statement  which  receives  some  coun- 
tenance from  a  passage  in  Plato,  from  which  it  may  also  be  inferred  that 
he  was  alive  at  the  time  of  Socrates'  death,  but  at  such  an  advanced  age 
that  he  was  likely  soon  to  follow  him. 

Euenus'  poetry  was  gnomic,  that  is,  it  formed  the  vehicle  for  ex- 
pressing philosophical  maxims  and  opinions.  There  were  other  writers 
of  the  name  of  Euenus ;  but  as  the  first  six  of  the  epigrams  in  the 
Anthology  are  of  the  gnomic  character,  they  may  be  with  tolerable  cer- 
tainty ascribed  to  this  author.  From  these  epigams  we  present  the  fol- 
lowing as  specimens : — 

THE  VINE  AND  THE  GOAT. 

Though  thou  should'st  gnaw  me  to  the  root, 
Destructive  goat !     Enough  of  fruit 
I   bear,  betwixt  thy  horns  to  shed, 
"When  to  the  altar  thou  art  led. 

THE  SWALLOW   AND  THE   GRASSHOPPER. 

Attic  Maiden,  breathing  still 

Of  the  fragrant  flowers  that  blow 
On  Hymettus'  purpled  hill, 

Whence  the  streams  of  honey  flow, 


148  ARIPHRON.  [LEOT.YL 

Wherefore  thus  a  captive  bear 
To  your  nest  a  grasshopper  ? 

Noisy  prattler,  cease  to  do 

To  your  fellow-prattler  wrong; 
Kind  should  not  its  kind  pursue, — 

Least  of  all  the  heirs  of  song. 
Prattler  seek  some  other  food 
For  your  noisy,  prattling  brood. 

Both  are  ever  on  the  wing, 

Wanderers  both  in  foreign  bowers, 
Both  succeed  the  parting  Spring, 

Both  depart  with  Summer  hours, 
— Those  who  love  the  minstrel's  lay, 
Should  not  on  each  other  prey. 


CONTRADICTION. 

In  contradiction,  wrong  or  right, 

Do  many  place  their  sole  delight. 

If  right,  'tis  well — if  wrong,  why  so? — 

But  contradict  whate'er  you  do. 

Such  reasoners  deserve,  I  hold, 

No  argument  save  that  of  old, — 

'  You  say  'tis  black — /  say  'tis  white — 

And  so,  good  sir,  you're  answered  quite.' 

Far  different  is  the  aspect  seen 

Of  modest  Wisdom's  quiet  mien — 

Patient  and  soon  to  be  persuaded, 

When  argument  by  truth  is  aided. 

Ariphron  was  a  native  of.  Sicyon,  and  is  supposed  to  have  been  born 
about  450  A.C.  Of  the  history  of  his  life  antiquity  affords  us  no  inci- 
dents ;  and  of  his  poetry  nothing  now  remains  to  us  but  the  following 
beautiful  poem  to  health,  which  was  preserved  by  Athenaeus  with  the 
greatest  care.  The  poem  was  an  object  of  universal  admiration  among 
the  ancients,  and  was  often  quoted  by  them, — particularly  by  Lucian  and 
Maximus  Tyrius.  Its  intrinsic  merit  warrants  all  the  attention  which  it 
has  received.  Dr.  Johnson,  in  allusion  to  this  poem,  remarks,  '  There  is 
among  the  fragments  of  the  Greek  poets  a  short  hymn  to  Health,  in 
which  her  power  of  exalting  the  happiness  of  life,  of  heightening  the  gifts 
of  fortune,  and  adding  enjoyment  to  possession,  is  inculcated  with  so 
much  tru^h  and  beauty,  that  no  one  who  has  ever  languished  under  the 
discomforts  and  infirmities  of  a  lingering  disease,  can  read  it  without  feel- 
ing the  images  dance  in  his  heart,  and  adding,  from  his  own  experience, 
new  vigor  to  the  wish,  and  new  colors  to  the  picture.  The  particular 
occasion  of  this  little  composition  is  not  known,  but  it  is  probable  that 
the  author  had  been  sick,  and,  in  the  first  rapture  of  returning  vigor,  thus 
addressed  the  goddess  :' 


440A.C.]  SIMM  I  AS.  149 

TO   HEALTH. 

Health,  brightest  of  the  blest,  do  thou 

To  my  poor  hearth  descend  1 
For  what  of  life  kind  heaven  allow, 

Be  thou  my  guest  and  friend! 
For  every  joy  that  fortune  brings, 
All  that  from  wealth  or  children  springs, 
From  courtly  show  or  sovereign  sway, 
Lifting  to  gods  us  things  of  clay, 
From  love,  or  love's  enchanting  wiles, 
From  labor's  pause,  or  pleasure's  smiles, — 
"With  thee  they  blossom,  Health  divine; 
Their  spring,  their  beauty,  all  is  thine ; 
And  none — save  thou  thy  smile  bestow — 
May  taste  of  happiness  below. 

Simmias,  another  philosophic  poet  of  this  period,  was  a  native*  of 
Thebes,  and  was  born  about  440  A.C.  He  early  devoted  himself  to  phi- 
losophical studies,  following,  at  first,  the  doctrines  of  Pythagoras ;  but 
he  afterwards  became  the  disciple  and  intimate  friend  of  Socrates,  and 
was  present  at  his  death,  having  come  from  Thebes,  with  his  brother 
Cebes,  bringing  with  him  a  large  sum  of  money,  to  assist  in  liberating 
Socrates  from  the  sentence  which  had  been  pronounced  against  him.  At 
this  time  both  Simmias  and  his  brother  were  comparatively  young  men, 
and  yet  the  great  respect  in  which  they  were  held  induced  Plato  to  in- 
troduce them  as  the  principal  speakers,  besides  Socrates  himself,  in  the 
Phsedon ;  and  the  skill  with  which  they  argue,  and  the  respect  and  affec- 
tion with  which  Socrates  treats  them,  prove  the  general  esteem  in  which 
they  were  held,  and  the  high  place  they  occupied  among  the  disciples  of 
their  great  teacher. 

The  poetry  of  Simmias  consisted  of  a  few  brief  effusions  in  the  form 
of  epitaphs  and  epigrams ;  the  merit  of  which  is  such  as  to  have  pre- 
served them  from  oblivion,  while  his  dialogues,  twenty-three  in  number, 
and  other  philosophical  writings  have  all  perished.  The  following  epitaph 
on  Sophocles  is  as  delicate  in  thought  and  beautiful  in  expression  as  so 
brief  a  composition  can  well  be : 


ON  SOPHOCLES. 

Wind,  gentle  evergreen,  to  form  a  shade 
Around  the  tomb  where  Sophocles  is  laid. 
Sweet  ivy,  lend  thine  aid,  and  intertwine 
With  blushing  roses  and  the  clustering  vine : 
Thus  shall  your  lasting  leaves,  with  beauties  hung, 
Prove  grateful  emblems  of  the  lays  he  sung. 


150  CALLISTRATUS.  [LECT.  VI. 

Callistratus,  the  poet  to  whom  our  remarks  have  now  brought  us  down, 
was  a  native  of  Athens,  and  was  born  in  that  city  420  A.C.  Of  his 
family  we  have  no  farther  knowledge  than  that  he  was  honorably  con- 
nected ;  and  of  the  history  of  his  poetic  career  all  we  know  is  that  he 
was  the  author  of  a  national  ode  of  such  extraordinary  merit  and  popu- 
larity as  to  have  been  often  ascribed  to  Alcseus,  one  of  the  contemporaries 
of  Sappho.  The  incident,  however,  which  the  ode  celebrates,  transpired 
long  after  Alcaeus'  death,  and  consequently  he  could  have  had  no  connec- 
tion with  its  production. 

The  ode  itself  is  a  convivial  song  ;  and  from  the  iterations  by  which  it 
is  distinguished,  and  of  which  it  is  the  earliest  sample  in  the  Greek  lan- 
guage, we  are  inclined  to  believe  that  in  the  rehearsal  or  singing  of  it, 
whether  in  the  theatres  or  at  other  places  of  public  entertainment,  the 
whole  company  present  joined.  The  subject  of  the  ode  was  the  triumph  of 
Harmodius  and  Aristogiton  over  the  Pisistratidae,  and  with  this  event  the 
name  of  Callistratus  remains  hallowed  in  our  memories.  The  Athenians 
held  those  heroes  in  such  veneration,  and  regarded  their  great  and  heroic 
deed  with  such  admiration,  that  they  not  only  erected  two  splendid 
statues  to  their  memory,  but  would  not,  thenceforth,  permit  any  Athenian 
child  to  bear  either  of  their  names. 

The  statues  erected  to  the  memory  of  Harmodius  and  Aristogiton 
were  carried  away  by  Xerxes  into  Persia,  when  that  prince  took  and  de- 
stroyed Athens ;  but  they  were  afterwards  returned  by  Alexander  the 
Great,  and  replaced  upon  their  original  pedestals.  Of  the  various  trans- 
lations of  this  ode  with  which  we  are  familiar,  we  prefer  the  following  :- — 


ODE  TO  HARMODIUS. 

lu  myrtle  my  sword  will  I  wreathe, 
Like  our  patriots  the  noble  and  brave, 

Who  devoted  the  tyrant  to  death, 
And  to  Athens  equality  gave. 

Loved  Harmodius,  thou  never  shalt  die  1 

The  poets  exultingly  tell, 
That  thine  is  the  fulness  of  joy, 

Where  Achilles  and  Diomed  dwell. 

In  myrtle  my  sword  will  I  wreathe, 
Like  our  patriots  the  noble  and  brave, 

Who  devoted  Hipparchus  to  death, 
And  buried  his  pride  in  the  grave. 

At  the  altar  the  tyrant  they  seized, 
While  Minerva  he  vainly  implor'd. 

And  the  Goddess  of  Wisdom  was  pleased 
With  the  victim  of  Liberty's  sword. 


420A.C.]  PLATO.  151 

May  your  bliss  be  immortal  on  high, 

Among  men  as  your  glory  shall  be; 
Ye  doomed  the  usurper  to  die, 

Arid  bade  our  dear  country  be  free. 

On  this  important  ode,  and  the  great  event  which  it  celebrates,  the 
one  hundred  and  twelfth  number  of  the  Edinburgh  Review  remarks, — 
c  Amidst  the  doubts  and  contradictions  of  historians  and  philosophers — 
Herodotus,  Thucydides,  Plato — it  is  diffiicult  not  to  believe  that  the  action 
thus  commemorated,  though  prompted,  perhaps,  like  the  revolt  of  Tell, 
by  private  injury,  was  an  example  of  that  rude  justice,  whose  ambiguous 
morality  is  forgiven  for  its  signal  public  benefits.  Something  of  greatness 
and  true  splendor  there  must  have  been  about  a  deed  of  which  the  mem- 
ory was  cherished  as  an  heir-loom  by  the  whole  Athenian  community  of 
freemen,  and  made  familiar  as  household  words,  by  constant  convivial  cel- 
ebration. Not  until  the  decline  of  Attic  liberty,  and  the  approach  of 
universal  degradation,  did  a  comic  writer  presume  to  sneer  at  the  lay  of 
Harmodius  as  wearing  out  of  fashion.  It  was  an  ill  sign  of  the  poet  to 
indulge  in  such  a  sneer,  and  it  was  a  worse  sign  of  the  people  to  en- 
dure it.' 

Plato  and  Aristotle,  after  Socrates,  the  two  most  eminent  philosophers 
that  Greece  ever  produced,  deserve  a  passing  notice  among  the  Grecian 
poets  of  this  period. 

Plato,  it  is  true,  abandoned  poetry  immediately  after  he  began  to  turn 
his  attention  to  the  severer  studies  of  philosophy ;  but  the  whole  of  the 
early  part  of  his  literary  life  was  devoted  to  the  Muses.  Indeed,  from 
the  poetic  tinge  which  colors  all  his  philosophical  writings,  particularly 
the  Memorabilia  of  Socrates,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  his  genius  was 
such  as  would  have  led  to  the  highest  degree  of  excellence  in  any  depart- 
ment of  poetry  to  which  he  might  have  devoted  his  exalted  intellect. 
The  intrinsic  merit  of  the  following  fragments  will  commend  them  to 
every  reader  capable  of  appreciating  a  pure  and  exalted  poetic  vein.  The 
lines  on  the  tomb  of  Themistocles  have  been  by  some  critics,  but  we  think 
without  sufficient  authority,  attributed  to  a  contemporary  poet  of  the 
same  name : 


THE    ANSWER   OF   THE   MUSES   TO    VENUS. 

I 

When  Venus  bade  the  Aonian  Maids  obey, 
Or  Cupid  else  should  vindicate  her  sway, 
The  virgins  answered:  'Threat  your  subjects  thusl 
That  puny  warrior  has  no  arms  for  us!' 


152  PLA.TO.  *  [LECT.  VL 


A   MORE   ENLARGED    VERSION    OF   THE   SAME. 

Thus  to  the  Muses  spoke  the  Cyprian  dame: 
'Adore  my  altars,  and  revere  my  name; 
My  son  shall  else  assume  his  potent  darts: 
Twang  goes  the  bow ;   my  girls,  have  at  your  hearts  1' 
The  Muses  answered : — '  Venus,  we  deride 
The  infant's  malice,  and  his  mother's  pride; 
Send  him  to  nymphs  who  sleep  in  Ida's  shade, 
To  the  loose  dance,  and  wanton  masquerade; 
Our  thoughts  are  settled,  and  intent  our  look 
On  the  instructive  verse  and  moral  book. 
On  female  idleness  his  power  relies,- 
But,  when  he  finds  us  studying  hard,  he  flies. 


ON   A   RURAL   IMAGE   OF    PAN. 

Sleep,  ye  rude  winds:   be  every  murmur  dead 

On  yonder  oak-crowned  promontory's  head! 

Be  still,  ye  bleating  flocks, — your  shepherd  calls. 

Hang  silent  on  your  rocks,  ye  waterfalls ! 

Pan  on  his  oaten  pipe  awakes  the  strain, 

And  fills  with  dulcet  sounds  the  pastoral  plain. 

Lur'd  by  his  notes,  the  Nymphs  their  bowers  forsake, 

From  every  fountain,  running  stream,  and  lake, 

From  every  hill,  and  ancient  grove  around, 

And  to  symphonious  measures   strike  the  ground. 


ON   A   SLEEPING   CUPID. 

I  pierced  the  grove,  and,  in  its  deepest  gloom 
Beheld  sweet  Love,  of  heavenly  form  and  bloom ; 
Nor  bow  nor  quiver  at  his  back  were  strung, 
But  harmless  on  the  neighboring  branches  hung. 
On  rose  buds  pillowed,  lay  the  little  child, 
In  glowing  slumbers  pleased,  and  sleeping  smil'd, 
While  all  around  the  bees  delighted  sip 
The  breathing  fragrance  of  his  balmy  lip. 


ON  THE   IMAGE   OF  A  SATYR, 

AND    A    CUPID    SLEEPING   BY   A    FOUNTAIN    SIDE. 

From  mortal  hands,  my  being  I  derive, 
Mute  marble  once,  from  man  I  learn'd  to  live. 
A  Satyr  now,  with  nymphe  I  hold  resort, 
And  guard  the  watery  grottos  where  they  sport. 


420A.O.]  «>LATO.  153 

In  purple  wine  refused  to  revel  more, 
Sweet  draughts  of  water  from  my  urn  I  pour  , 
But,  Stranger,  softly  tread,  lest  any  sound 
Awake  yon  boy,  in  rosy  slumbers  bound. 


ON  DION  OF  SYRACUSE. 

For  Priam's  queen  and  daughters,  at  their  birth, 

The  Fates  weaved  tears  into  their  web  of  life : 
But  for  thee,  Dion,  in  thy  hour  of  mirth, 

When  triumph  crowned  thine  honourable  strife 
Thy  gathering  hopes  were  poured  upon  the  sand. 

Thee  still  thy  countrymen  revere  and  lay 
In  the  broad  precincts  of  thy  native  land, 

But  who  the  passion  of  my  grief  shall  stay  ? 
•  • 

A  LOVER'S  WISH. 

Why  dost  thou  gaze  upon  the  sky  ? 

Oh,  that  I  were  yon  spangled  sphere  1 
And  every  star  should  be  an  eye 

To  wander  o'er  thy  beauties  here. 


THE  KISS. 

Oh  1   on  that  kiss  my  soul, 

As  if  in  doubt  to  stay, 
Lingered  awhile,  on  fluttering  wing,  prepar'd 

To  soar  away. 

ON  HIS  BELOVED. 

In  life  thou  wert  my  morning  star, 

But  now  that  Death  has  stol'n  thy  light, 

Alas,  thou  shinest  dim  and  far, 

Like  the  pale  beam  that  weeps  at  night. 

ON  ARISTOPHANES. 

The  Muses,  seeking  for  a  shrine. 

Whose  glories  ne'er  shall  cease, 
Found,  as  they  strayed,  the  soul  divine 

Of  Aristophanes. 

ON  THE  TOMB  OF  THEMISTOOLES. 

By  the  sea's  margin,  on  the  watery  strand, 
Thy  monument,  Themistocles,  shall  stand: 
By  this  directed,  to  thy  native  shore 
The  merchant  shall  convey  his  freighted  store ; 


154  ARISTOTLiE  [LEOT.  VL 

And  when  our  fleets  are  summoned  to  the  fight, 
Athens  shall  conquer  with  thy  tomb  in  sight. 

Aristotle  would,  perhaps,  have  become  equally  renowned  as  a  poet  as 
he  was  as  a  philosopher,  had  he  seriously  devoted  his  great  intellectual 
powers  to  that  divine  art.  The  following  beautiful  hymn,  or  paean,  was 
written  in  honor  of  his  patron,  Hermias,  tyrant  of  Atarnea,  but  who  had 
been  originally  a  slave.  The  origin  of  the  fine  epitaph  on  the  tomb  of 
Ajax,  is  unknown : 

HYMN  TO  VIRTUE. 

0  sought  with  toil  and  mortal  strife 

By  those  of  human  birth, 
Virtue,  thou  noblest  end  of  life, 

Thou  goodliest  gain  on  earth ! 
Thee,  Maid,  to  win,  our  youth  would  bear 
Unwearied,  fiery  pains ;   and  dare 

Death  for  thy  beauty's  worth; 
So  bright  thy  proffered  honors  shine, 
Like  clusters  of  a  fruit  divine. 

Sweeter  than  slumber's  boasted  joys, 

And  more  desired  than  gold, 
Dearer  than  nature's  dearest  ties  : — 

For  thee  those  heroes  old; 
Herculean  son  of  highest  Jove, 
And  the  twin-birth  of  Leda,  strove 

By  perils  manifold: 
Great  Peleus'  son,  with  like  desire, 
And  Ajax  sought  the  Stygian  fire. 

The  bard  shall  crown  with  lasting  lay, 

And  &ge  immortal  make 
Atarnea's  sovereign,  'reft  of  day 

For  thy  dear  beauty's  sake  : 
Him,  therefore,  the  recording  Nine 
In  songs  extol  to  heights  divine, 

And  every  chord  awake ; 
Promoting  still,  with  reverence  due, 
The  meed  of  friendship  tried  and  true. 


ON  THE  TOMB  OF  AJAX. 

By  Ajax'  tomb,  in  solemn  state, 

I,  Virtue,  as  a  mourner  wait, 

With  hair  dishevell'd,  sable  vest, 

Fast  streaming  eyes  and  heaving  breast , 

Since  in  the  Grecian  tents  I  see 

Fraud,  hateful  Fraud,  preferr'd  to  me. 


420A.C.]  MNASALCUS.—  HYBRIAS.  155 

Mnasalcas,  a  contemporary  of  Aristotle,  and  a  native  of  a  village  in  the 
territory  of  Sicyon,  called  Platseae,  was  an  epigrammatic  writer  of  great 
merit.  Nothing  farther  of  his  life  is  known.  Brunck  gives  eighteen  of 
his  epigrams,  the  first  of  which  is  the  following  parody  on  Aristotle's 
epitaph  on  the  tomb  of  Ajax  : 


PARODY 

ON    AN    INSCRIPTION    OF    ARISTOTLE. 

In  woful  guise,  at  Pleasure's  gate, 

I,  Virtue,  as  a  mourner  wait, 

With  hair  in  loose  disorder  flowing, 

And  breast  with  fierce  resentment  glowing, 

Since,  all  the  country  round,  I  see 

Base  sensual  joys  preferred  to  me. 

To  this  parody  we  add  the  following  brief  inscriptions  : — 

ON  A  TEMPLE  OF  VENUS   NEAR  THE  SEA-SHORE. 

Here  let  us  from  the  wave-washed  beach  behold 

Sea-born  Cythera's  venerable  fane, 
And  fountains  fringed  with  shady  poplars  old 

Where  dip  their  wings  the  golden  halcyon  train. 

ON  A  PIPE  IN  THE  TEMPLE  OF  VENUS. 

Say,  rustic  pipe  !   in  Cythera's  dome 
Why  sounds  this  echo  of  a  shepherd's  home  ? 
Nor  rocks,  nor  valleys,  here  invite  the  strain; 
But  all  is  Love — go,  seek  thy  hills  again. 

ON  THE  SHIELD   OF  ALEXANDER. 

A  holy  offering  at  Diana's  shrine, 

See  Alexander's  glorious  shield  recline ; 

Whose  golden  orb,  through  many  a  bloody  day, 

Triumphant,  ne'er  in  dust  dishonor'd  lay. 

With  a  brief  notice  of  Hyenas  of  Crete,  Hermesianax  of  Colophon, 
and  Perses  of  Thebes  or  Macedonia,  we  shall  close  our  present  remarks. 

Hybrias  was,  in  his  day,  a  lyric  poet  of  great  celebrity,  and  is  the  au- 
thor of  the  following  brief  scholion — a  poem  so  greatly  esteemed  as  to 
be  preserved  by  Athenaeus,  Eustatheus,  and  in  the  Greek  Anthology. 
Of  this  writer  we  have  unfortunately  no  farther  knowledge : 


156  HERMESIANAX.  .          [LECT.  VI. 


THE   WARRIOR'S   RICHES. 

My  wealth's  a  burly  spear  and  brand, 
And  a  right  good  shield  of  hides  untann'd, 

Which  on  mine  arm  I  buckle : 
With  these  I  plough,  I  reap,  I  sow, 
With  these  I  make  the  vintage  flow, 

And  all  around  me  truckle. 

But  your  wights  that  take  no  pride  to  wield 
A  massy  spear  and  a  well-made  shield, 

Nor  joy  to  draw  the  sword  : 
Oh  !    I  bring  those  heartless,  hapless  drones 
Down,  in  a  trice,  on  their  marrow-bones, 

To  call  me  kiug  and  lord. 

Hermesianax,  a  distinguished  elegiac  poet,  was  born  at  Colophon 
about  360  A.C.  His  principal  production  was  an  elegiac  poem,  in  three 
books,  addressed  to  his  mistress  Leontium,  whose  name  formed  the  title 
of  the  poem.  A  very  considerable  part  of  the  third  book  is  quoted  by 
Athenaeus,  and  also  Pausanias.  Pausanias  introduces  another  quotation 
also,  from  this  author,  as  -part  of  an  elegy  on  the  Centaur  Eurytion ; 
which,  however,  is  of  doubtful  authority.  We  give  the  former  extract 
entire : 

THE  LOVES  OF  THE  GREEK  POETS. 

Such  was  the  nymph  whom  Orpheus  led 
From  the  dark  mansions  of  the  dead, 
Where  Charon  with  his  lazy  boat 
Ferries  o'er  Lethe's  sedgy  moat ; 
The  undaunted  miustrel  smites  the  strings, 
His  strain  through  hell's  vast  conclave  rings ; 
Cocytus  hears  the  plaintive  theme, 
And  refluent  turns  his  pitying  stream ; 
Three-headed  Cerberus,  by  fate 
Posted  at  Pluto's  iron  gate, 
Low-crouching  rolls  his  haggard  eyes 
Extatic,  and  foregoes  the  prize  ; 
With  ears  erect  at  hell's*  wide  doors, 
Lies  listening  as  the  songster  soars : 
Thus  music  charm'd  the  realm  beneath, 
And  beauty  triumph'd  over  death. 

The  bard,  whom  night's  pale  regent  bore 

In  secret  on  the  Athenian  shore, 

Musseus  felt  the  sacred  flame, 

And  burnt  for  the  fair  Theban  dame, 

Autiope,  whom  mighty  Love 

Made  pregnant  by  imperial  Jove ; 


S60A.C.]  HERMES  IANAX.  15' 

The  poet  plied  his  amorous  strain, 
Press'd  the  fond  fair,  nor  press'd  in  vain ; 
For  Ceres,  who  the  veil  undrew, 
That  screen'd  her  mysteries  from  view, 
Propitious  this  kind  truth  reveal'd, 
That  woman  close-besieged  will  yield. 

Homer,  of  all  past  bards  the  prime, 
And  wonder  of  all  future  time, 
Whom  Jove  with  wit  sublimely  blest, 
And  touched  with  purest  fire  his  breast, 
From  gods  and  heroes  turned  away 
To  warble  the  domestic  lay, 
And,  wandering  to  the  desert  isle, 
On  whose  parch'd  rocks  no  seasons  smile, 
In  distant  Ithaca  was  seen 
Chaunting  the  suit-repelling  queen. 

Old  Hesiod,  too,  his  native  shade 

Made  vocal  to  the  Ascraean  maid 

The  bard  his  heaven-directed  lore 

Forsook,  and  hymn'd  the  gods  no  more ; 

Soft,  love-sick  ditties  now  he  sung, 

Love  touch'd  his  harp,  love  tuned  his  tongue, 

Silenced  his  Heliconian  lyre, 

And  quite  put  out  religion's  fire. 

Mimnermus  tuned  his  amorous  lay, 
When  time  had  turned  his  temples  gray ; 
Love  revelled  in  his  aged  veins, 
Soft  was  his  lyre,  and  sweet  his  strains; 
Frequenter  of  the  wanton  feast, 
Nanno  his  theme,  and  youth  his  guest. 

Antimachus  with  tender  art 

Pour'd  forth  the  sorrows  of  his  heart ; 

In  her  Dardanian  grave  he  laid 

Chryseis,  his  belov'd  maid; 

And  thence  returning,  sad  beside 

Pfcctolus'  melancholy  tide, 

To  Colophon  the  minstrel  came, 

Still  sighing  forth  the  mournful  name, 

Till  lenient  time  his  grief  appeas'd 

And  tears  by  long  indulgence  ceas'd. 

Alcseus  strung  his  sounding  lyre, 
And  smote  it  with  a  hand  of  fire, 
To  Sappho,  fondest  of  the  fair, 
Chanting  the  loud  and  lofty  air. 
***** 

E'en  Sophocles,  whose  honey'd  lore, 
Rivals  the  bee's  delicious  store, 


158  PERSES.  »        [LECT.  VL 

Chorus'd  the  praise  of  wine  and  love, 
Choicest  of  all  the  gifts  of  Jove. 
*  -x-  *  *  # 

Philoxenus,  by  wood-nymphs  bred, 

On  famed  Cithaeron's  sacred  head, 

And  trained  to  music,  wine,  and  song, 

Midst  orgies  of  the  frantic  throng, 

"When  beauteous  Galatea  died, 

His  flute  and  thyrsus  cast  aside ; 

And,  wandering  to  thy  pensive  coast, 

Sad  Melos,  where  his  love  was  lost ; 

Each  night,  through  the  responsive  air, 

Thy  echoes  witness'd  his  despair ; 

Still,  still  his  plaintive  harp  was  heard,  . 

Soft  as  the  nightly-singing  bird. 

Philotas,  too.  in  Battis'  praise, 
Sung  his  long-winded  roundelays  ; 
His  statue  in  the  Coan  groves 
Now  breathes  in  brass  perpetual  love. 

The  mortified,  abstemious  Sage, 

Deep-read  in  learning's  crabbed  page, 

Pythagoras,  whose  boundless  soul 

Scaled  the  wide  globe  from  pole  to  pole, 

Earth,  planets,  seas,  and  heavens  above, 

Yet  found  no  spot  secure  from  love ; 

"With  love  declines  unequal  war, 

And,  trembling,  drags  his  conqueror's  car, 

Theano  clasp'd  him  in  her  arms, 

And  Wisdom  stooped  to  Beauty's  charms. 

E'en  Socrates,  whose  moral  mind 
With  truth  enlighten'd  all  mankind, 
When  at  Aspasia's  side  he  sate, 
Still  found  no  end  to  love's  debate, 
For  strong  indeed  must  be  the  heart, 
Where  love  finds  no  unguarded  part 

Sage  Aristippus,  by  right  rule 
Of  logic,  purged  the  Sophist's  school, 
Check'd  folly  in  its  headlong  course, 
And  swept  it  down  by  reason's  force ; 
Till  Venus  aimed  the  heartfelt  blow, 
And  laid  the  mighty  victor  low. 

Perses  was  also  an  epigrammatic  poet,  and  was  included  in  the  Garland 
of  Meleager ;  but  whether  he  was  a  Theban  or  a  Macedonian  is  uncer- 
tain, as  in  the  title  of  one  of  his  epigrams  he  is  made  to  belong  to  the 
former  of  those  countries,  and  in  that  of  another  to  the  latter.  The 


360  AC.]  PERSES.  159 

Greek  Anthology  contains  nine  of  his  epigrams,  of  which  the  following 
is  a  sample : 


ON  THE  MONUMENT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

Unblest   Manilla !     On  this  speaking  tomb 

"What  means  the  type  of  emblematic  gloom? 

Thy  lost  Callirhoe  we  here  survey, 

Just  as  she  mourned  her  ebbing  soul  away, 

Just  as  the  death-mists  o'er  her  eye-lids  fell, 

In  those  maternal  arms  she  loved  so  welL 

There,  too,  the  speechless  father  sculptured  stands, 

That  cherished  head  supporting  with  his  hands. 

Alas !  alas !  thus  grief  is  made  to  flow 

A  ceaseless  stream — eternity  of  woe. 


Kninn  tjr* 


LYCOPHRON.— THEOCRITUS.— ARATUS —  DIOTIMUS.— ASCLEPI A  DES.— 
PH^EDiafAS.— NICIAS.— NOSSIS.— ANYTE. 

SOON  after  the  age  of  Callistratus  and  his  contemporaries,  lyric  and 
other  miscellaneous  poetry,  in  Greece  proper,  comparatively  ceased, 
and  hence  in  pursuing  our  subject  we  must  now  turn  our  attention  to  a 
new  region.  Athens,  it  is  true,  still  preserved  her  comic  drama,  but  its 
power  and  influence  were  gone.  The  sceptre  of  Philip  of  Macedon  had, 
as  the  consequence  of  his  victory  at  Chaeronea,  337  A.C.,  become  ex- 
tended over  all  Greece ;  and  the  despotic  sway  of  his  son  and  successor 
Alexander  the  Great,  pressed  the  hand  of  oppression  upon  the  whole 
country  with  such  severity,  that  even  the  impetuous  tongue  of  Demos- 
thenes was  stopped,  and  the  acrimonious  muse  of  Aristophanes  abandoned. 
Whilst  the  country  had,  therefore,  lost  its  liberty,  and  was  trembling  lest 
its  national  existence  should  be~  destroyed,  little  time  or  thought  could 
be  extended  to  the  patronage  of  those  arts  in  which  they  had  formerly 
so  greatly  exulted,  and  for  which  they  had  long  been  so  eminently  distin- 
guished. 

At  the  close  of  Alexander's  career,  224  A.C.,  which  was  as  brief  as  it 
was  brilliant,  his  vast  empire,  after  a  struggle  between  his  principal 
generals,  of  twenty-three  years'  continuance,  and  ending  in  the  battle  of 
Issus,  fell  under  the  control  of  Seleucus,  Lysimachus,  Antiochus,  and 
Ptolemy  Lagus,  the  last  of  whom  was  not  only  a  distinguished  soldier 
and  a  man  of  great  energy  of  character,  but  also  a  Macedonian  of  refined 
taste  and  exalted  attainments.  To  his  share  in  the  division  of  the  vast 
Macedonian  empire,  Egypt  fell ;  and  he  had  no  sooner  reduced  his  new 
dominions  to  order  and  regularity,  and  settled  its  government,  than  he 
resolved  to  make  Alexandria,  his  capital,  what  Athens  had  formerly  been 
— the  seat  of  literature,  the  arts,  and  the  sciences.  With  this  view  he 
invited  men  of  eminence  from  every  part  of  Greece  and  its  former  depen- 
dencies, to  resort  to  his  court ;  and  he  there  extended  to  them  a  patron- 
age marked  with  royal  munificence.  Alexandria,  therefore,  soon  became, 

11 


162  LYCOPHRON.  [LECT.  YH. 

not  only  the  seat  of  the  Muses,  but  the  home  of  the  sciences,  and  the 
abode  of  both  genius  and  learning.  Of  the  poets  who  resorted  thither, 
Lycophron  is  the  first  to  be  noticed. 

Lycophron  was  a  native  of  Chalcis,  in  the  island  of  Euboea,  and  was 
born  about  304  A.O.  He  was  the  son  of  Socles,  and  the  adopted  son  of 
the  historian  Lycus  of  Rhegium ;  and  from  such  exalted  connections  it  is 
natural  to  infer  that  he  received  every  advantage  of  culture  and  educa- 
tion, though  of  his  early  life  we  have  no  knowledge.  But  that  he  must 
have  attained  to  some  degree  of  eminence  before  he  left  his  native  island 
is  evident  from  the  fact,  that,  soon  after  his  arrival  at  the  court  of  Alex- 
andria, he  occupied  the  most  prominent  place  among  the  poets  of  that 
court,  and  enjoyed  the  personal  confidence  and  the  privilege  of  familiar 
intercourse  with  the  sovereign,  Ptolemy  Philaddlphus. 

That  monarch,  observing  the  refined  taste  and  high  degree  of  cultiva- 
tion of  Lycophron's  mind,  entrusted  to  him  the  arrangement  of  the  works 
of  the  comic  poets  contained  in  the  Alexandrian  library.  In  the  execu- 
.tion  of  this  commission  he  drew  up  a  very  extensive  work  on  comedy, 
which  appears  to  have  embraced  the  whole  subject  of  the  history  and 
nature  of  the  comic  drama  of  Greece,  together  with  accounts  of  the 
comic  poets,  and,  besides  this,  many  matters  bearing  indirectly  on  the  in- 
terpretation of  the  comedians. 

Lycophron  doubtless  found,  on  his  arrival  at  the  court  of  Alexandria, 
many  other  poets  of  eminence  ;  and  as  Grecian  poetry  from  this  period 
assumes  an  aspect  of  more  uncontrolled  fancy  than  it  possessed,  in  its 
earlier  and  severer  reign,  one  of  the  first  acts  of  the  Alexandrian  poets 
was  to  form  themselves  into  a  constellation  which  they  transferred  to  the 
heavens  under  the  name  of  the  Pleiades.  Of  this  poetic  constellation 
Lycophron  was  the  first  conspicuous  star ;  Theocritus,  the  second ; 
Aratus,  the  third ;  Nicander,  the  fourth ;  Apollonius,  the  fifth  ;  Philochus, 
the  sixth  ;  and  Homyres  the  younger,  the  seventh. 

These  poets,  in  the  refined  and  delicate  court  of  Ptolemy,  basked  in 
the  sunshine  of  perpetual  prosperity,  and  were  placed  by  their  liberal 
monarc,h  in  a  position  of  ease  and  entire  independence ;  and  hence,  as  is 
always  the  case  under  similar  circumstances,  few  important  incidents 
marked  their  lives.  It  is  only  amidst  the  whirlwind  and  the  storm  that 
the  fires  of  genius  burst  forth,  and  variety  of  scene  and  circumstance  in 
the  poet's  life  are  exhibited.  We  are  not  to  expect,  therefore,  in  the 
poets  of  the  Alexandrian  school,  the  vivid,  fervid,  and  absorbing  powers 
of  genius  that  were  displayed  by  Pindar  and  his  associates ;  but  their 
poetry  flows  in  a  pure,  limpid,  and  quiet  stream — abounding  in  the  beau- 
tiful, but  the  beautiful  of  a  subdued  and  easy  tone. 

The  time  of  Lycophron's  death  is  unpertain  ;  but  he  is  generally  sup- 
posed to  have  lived  to  an  advanced  age,  and  to  have  retained,  till  his 
death,  the  confidence,  and  even  affection,  of  Ptolemy  Philadelphus,  and 


304A.C.]  LYCOPHRON.  163 

of  his  son  and  successor,  Ptolemy  Evergetes.     According  to  Ovid  he 
was  killed  by  the  random  shot  of  an  arrow. 

As  a  poet,  Lycophron  obtained  a  place  ii*  the  Tragic  Pleiad ;  but  if  he 
ever  wrote  tragedies,  there  is  not  a  fragment  of  any  of  them  extant.  The 
only  one  of  his  poems  that  has  come  down  to  us  is  the  Cassandra,  or 
Alexandra.  This  is  neither  a  tragedy  nor  an  epic  poem,  but  a  long 
Iambic  monologue,  in  which  Cassandra  is  made  to  prophesy  the  fall  of 
Troy ;  the  adventures  of  the  Grecian  and  Trojan  heroes,  with  numerous 
other  mythological  and  historical  events,  going  back  as  early  as  the  Argo 
nauts,  the  Amazons,  and  the  fables  of  lo  and  Europa,  and  ending  with 
Alexander  the  Great.  The  poem  was,  doubtless,  designed  as  a  compli- 
ment to  Ptolemy  himself,  and  to  indicate  to  his  mind  the  events  of  that 
destiny  which  had  finally  raised  him  from  an  ordinary  station  to  that  of 
one  of  the  most  powerful  and  brilliant  monarchs  of  the  age  in  which  he 
lived.  This  poem  is  frequently  called  the  '  Dark  Poem,'  in  consequence 
of  the  great  obscurity  which  pervades  many  parts  of  it ;  but  in  a  mytho- 
logical point  of  view,  it  has  ever  been  regarded  as  of  the  highest  import- 
ance. The  extract  which  we  have  selected  in  illustration  of  these  remarks, 
is  the  prophesy  of  the  death  of  Hector  by  the  hand  of  Achilles ;  for,  in 
addition  to  its  intrinsic  merit,  it  contains  allusions  of  great  historical 
importance : 

PROPHESY  OF  THE  DEATH  OF  HECTOR. 

Now  Myrina's  turrets  o'er 
And  along  the  ocean  shore 
Sounds  are  heard  of  wailing  cries, 
Neighings  shrill  of  war-steeds  rise. 

,  When  the  tawny  wolf,*  his  feet, 

With  Thessalian  swiftness  fleet, 
Springing  with  impetuous  leap, 
Presses  on  the  sandy  steep  ; 
Hidden  fountains  gushing  round, 
As  he  stamps  th.e  yielding  ground. 
Mars,  in  war-dance  famed,  hatn  stood, 
Blowing  shrill  the  trump  of  blood. 
All  the  earth,  before  mine  eyes, 
Drear  and  desolated  lies : 
Lances  bristle,  and  in  air 
Iron  harvest's  waving  glare. 
From  the  topmost  tower  I  bend: 
Shrieks  the  height  of  air  ascend: 
Groans  are  utter'd ;  garments  torn ; 
Women  o'er  the  slaughters  mourn. 
Woe  my  heart !   to  me,  to  me 
That  the  heaviest  blow  will  be ; 
That  will  gnaw  my  soul  to  see. 

*  Achilles. 


164  THEOCRITUS.  [LEOT.  VIL 

Lo!  the  warlike  eagle*  come 
Green  of  eye,  and  black  of  plume : 
Screaming  fierce  he  swooping  springs, 
Marks  the  dust  with  trailing  wings  ;•}• 
Plougher  «f  the  furrow'd  sand, 
Sweeping  circles  track  the  land. 
With  a  mix'd  and  horrid  cry, 
See  he  snatches  him  on  high ! 
Brother !   to  my  soul  endear'd ! 
Nursling,  by  Apollo  rear'd ! 
Beak  and  talon  keen  deface 
All  his  body's  blooming  grace: 
Slaughter-dyed,  his  native  wood 
Reddens  with  the  stain  of  blood. 

Theocritus,  the  second  star  in  the  Alexandrian  constellation,  and  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  poetic  geniuses  of  any  age  or  country,  was  the  son 
of  Praxagoras  and  Philinna,  and  was  born  at  Syracuse,  in  the  island  of 
Sicily,  about  300  A.C.  His  parentage,  though  respectable,  was  com- 
paratively obscure ;  and  of  the  early  part  of  his  life,  or  of  his  family,  we 
have  no  farther  information  than  that  which  we  derive  from  an  epigram 
usually  set  in  front  of  his  works,  and  which,  according  to  Suidas,  was 
probably  written  by  Theocritus  of  Chios.  The  date  of  his  birth*  and  the 
period  in  which  he  flourished,  are  derived  from  two  of  his  Idyls,  the  one 
addressed  to  Hiero  the  Second,  king  of  Syracuse,  and  the  other  to  Ptole- 
my Philadelphus,  King  of  Egypt. 

Theocritus  remained  in  his  native  place  until  he  had  so  far  distinguished 
himself  by  his  poetic  genius  as  to  attract  very  extensive  notice  among  the 
poets  of  his  age  ;  and  perhaps  he  would  have  confined  his  residence  to  his 
native  city  had  his  monarch  been  a  man  of  taste,  or  a  patron  of  the  arts. 
This,  however,  not  being  the  character  of  Hiero,  Theocritus  sought  patron-, 
age  at  the  distant  court  of  Ptolemy  Philadelphus,  where,  as  we  have  al- 
ready remarked,  science  and  art,  in  any  department,  received  all  the  patron- 
age, and  all  the  fostering  care  which  that  monarch  could  bestow  upon  them. 

It  was  with  reluctance,  however,  that  Theocritus  left  the  place  of  his 
nativity,  notwithstanding  the  brilliant  inducements  that  Alexandria  held 
out  to  him ;  and  before  he  took  his  departure,  therefore,  he  addressed  to 
Hiero  an  Idyl,  in  which  he  intimated  his  design,  and  at  the  same  time 
delicately  complained  that  neglect  by  his  own  sovereign  was  the  cause 
of  his  seeking  patronage  abroad, — remarking,  at  the  same  time,  that  if 
Hiero  were  as  munificent  a  patron  of  poetry  and  the  arts  as  he  was  a 
splendid  subject  for  them,  he  would  be  unsurpassed  by  any  living  monarch. 

On  arriving  at  the  court  of  Alexandria,  whither  his  fame  had  preceded 
him,  Theocritus  was  received  by  Philadelphus  with  every  conceivable 
mark  of  honor  and  distinction;  and  he  there  met  Aratus,  the  distin- 
guished author  of  '  The  Phenomena,'  a  poet  of  congenial  spirit  with  his 
*  Achilles.  f  His  chariot-wheels. 


300A.C.]  THEOCRITUS.  165 

own,  and  with  whom  he  immediately  formed  so  close  an  intimacy,  that  it 
thenceforth  became  a  common  practice  with  them  to  borrow  from  each 
other's  poems  extensive  and  important  passages.  Thus  the  commence- 
ment of  the  first  Idyl,  addressed  by  Theocritus  to  Ptolemy,  is  an  extract, 
without  alteration,  from  a  poem  of  Aratus. 

The  germ  of  the  bucolic  poetry  of  Theocritus  may  be  discovered,  at  a 
very  early  period,  among  the  Dorians,  both  of  Laconia  and  of  Sicily, — 
especially  at  Tyndaris  and  Syracuse,  where  the  festivals  of  Artemis  were 
enlivened  by  songs,  in  which  two  shepherds  or  herdsmen,  or  two  parties 
cf  them,  contended  with  one  another,  and  which  gradually  grew  into  an 
art,  practised  by  a  class  of  performers  called  Lydiastce  and  Bucolistce, 
who  flourished  extensively  in  Sicily  and  the  neighboring  districts  of  Italy. 
The  subjects  of  their  songs  were  popular  mythical  stories  and  the  scenes 
of  country 'life  ;  the  beauty,  love,  and  unhappy  end  of^Daphnis,  the  ideal 
of  the  shepherd,  who  was  introduced  by  Stesichorus  into  his  poetry,  and 
of  Diomus,  who  was  named  by  Epicharmus ,  the  melancholy  complaints 
of  the  coy  huntsman  Menalcas ;  and  other  kindred  subjects.  These 
songs  were  still  popular  in  the  time  of  Diodorus ;  but  scarcely  a  fragment 
of  them  has  come  down  to  us. 

The  poems  of  Theocritus  were  written  in  the  Doric  dialect, — a  dialect 
peculiarly  adapted  to  such  subjects, — and  w.ere  styled  by  their  author 
*  Idyls,'  to  indicate  their  general  brevity,  and  the  variety  of  their  sub- 
jects. We  should  now  call  them  miscellanies.  Of  these  miscellanies 
thirty  are  still  preserved,  the  first  nine  and  the  eleventh  of  which  are 
pastorals ;  and  in  pastoral  poetry  Theocritus  holds  the  same  rank  that 
Homer  holds  in  epic, — comparatively  the  originator,  and  certainly  the 
perfector.  Hence  critics  have  uniformly  drawn  their  rules  for  com- 
position in  this  department  of  poetry  from  the  practice  of  this  eminent 
writer ;  and  hence  also  Virgil's  Eclogues  are  mere  translations,  or  at  best 
nothing  more  than  imitations  of  this  great  original  pastoral  writer. 

The  poetry  of  Theocritus  is  marked  throughout  by  the  strength  and 
vivacity  of  original  genius.  Everything  in  it  is  distinct  and  peculiar. 
Everything  is  individualized  and  brought  strongly  and  closely  to  the  eye 
and  understanding  of  the  reader,  so  as  to  stamp  upon  the  mind  the  im- 
pression of  reality.  His  scenes  of  nature,  and  his  men  and  women  are 
equally  striking, — distinct  in  features  and  in  manners,  and  may  be  easily 
described  by  the  peculiar  picturesqueness  of  character  which  they  present. 
His  humor  is  chiefly  shown  in  the  portraitures  of  the  middle  rank,  and 
in  city  life,  where  he  abounds  in  strokes  of  character  not  confined  to 
ancient  times,  and  in  natural  peculiarities  to  suit  all  ages  and  all  climes ; 
hence  his  permanent  and  enduring  popularity.  He  is  not  limited  to 
rough,  rustic,  or  comic  dialogue  or  incident,  but  passes  with  equal  facility 
to  refined  and  elevated  subjects ;  and  hence  those  who  have  heard  of  the 


166  THEOCRITUS.  [LECT.  VII. 

rusticity  only  of  Theocritus  will  be  unexpectedly  struck  by  the  delicacy 
of  his  thoughts,  and  the  richness  and  eloquence  of  his  fancy.  Conse- 
quently, while  some  have  made  coarseness  an  objection  to  Theocritus, 
others  have  affected  to  talk  of  his  assigning  to  his  rustics  words  and  sen- 
timents above  their  station ;  as  if  Theocritus  was  not  himself  the  best 
judge  of  the  manners  of  his  own  countrymen. 

The  scene  of  the  Idyls  is  uniformly  laid  in  the  poet's  native  island ; 
and,  perhaps,  Sicily  at  that  time  abounded,  to  a  greater  extent  than  any 
other  country  familiar  to  the  Greeks,  in  those  peculiar  characteristics 
which  the  variety  of  rustic  or  pastoral  life  required ;  and  hence  the 
naturalness  of  his  delineations  is  such  as  to  present,  not  only  each  group- 
ing, but  each  individual  character  with  the  force  of  verisimilitude. 

The  period  of  this  extraordinary  and  original  writer's  death  is  uncer- 
tain ;  but  he  is  generally  supposed  to  have  returned,  in  advanced  life,  to 
Syracuse,  where,  according  to  an  intimation  by  Ovid,  he  was  'strangled  by 
order  of  the  king,  but  for  what  cause  is  not  mentioned.  The  variety  and 
importance  of  the  remains  of  this  truly  great  poet,  make  it  necessary  that 
our  illustrations  of  his  genius  should  be  much  more  extensive  than  in 
ordinary  cases ;  and  in  the  extracts  which  follow,  we  have,  therefore, 
endeavored  to  present  all  the  varied  aspects  under  which  his  poetry 
appears : 

CHARACTER   OF   PTOLEMY   PHILADELPHUS. 

FROM    THE    FOURTEENTH   IDYL. 

What  is  his  character?     A  royal  spirit 

To  point  out  geuius  and  encourage  merit; 

The  poet's  friend,  humane,  and  good,  and  kind; 

Of  manners  gentle,  and  of  generous  mind. 

He  marks  his  friend,  but    more   he  marks  his  foe; 

His  hand  is  ever  ready  to  bestow: 

Request  with  reason,  and  he'll  grant  the  thing, 

And  what  he  gives,  he  gives  it  like  a  king. 


PRAISES    OF   PTOLEMY    PHILADELPHUS. 

FROM    THE    SEVENTEENTH   IDYL. 

"With  Jove  begin,  ye  Nine,  and  end  with  Jove, 
"Whene'er  ye  praise  the  greatest  god  above: 
But  if  of  noblest  men,  the  song  ye  cast, 
Let  Ptolemy  be  first,  and  midst,  and  last. 
Heroes  of  old,  from  demigods  that  sprung, 
Chose  lofty  poets,  who  their  actions  sung. 
"Well  skill'd,  I  lune  to  Ptolemy,  my  reed ; 
Hymns  are  of  gods,  above  the  honor'd  meed. 


300A.C.]  THEOCRITUS.  .  167 

To  Ida,  when  the  -woodman  winds  his  way, 

Where  verdant  pines  their  towering  tops  display, 

Doubtful  he  stands,  with  undetermined  look, 

Where  first  to  deal  the  meditated  stroke : 

And  where  shall  I  commence  ?     New  themes  arise, 

Deeds  that  exalt  his  glory  to  the  skies. 

If  from  his  fathers  we  commence  the  plan, 

Lagus  how  great,  how  excellent  a  man! 

Who  to  no  earthly  potentate  would  yield 

For  wisdom  at  the  board,  or  valor  in  the  field: 

Him  with  the  gods  Jove  equals,  and  has  given 

A  golden  palace  in  the  realms  of  heaven: 

Near  him  sits  Alexander,  wise  and  great, 

The  fell  destroyer  of  the  Persian  state. 

Against  them,  thron'd  in  adamant,  in  view 

Alcides,  who  the  Cretan  monster  slew, 

Reclines,  and,  as  with  gods  the  feast  he  shares, 

Glories  to  meet  his  own  descendant  heirs ; 

From  age,  and  pain's  impediments,  repriev'd, 

And  in  the  rank  of  deities  receiv'd. 

For  in  his  line  are  both  these  heroes  class'd, 

And  both  deriv'd  from  Hercules  the  last. 

Thence,  when  the  nectar'd  bowl  his  love  inspires, 

And  to  the  blooming  Hebe  he  retires, 

To  this  his  bow  and  quiver  he  allots, 

To  that  his  iron  club,  distinct  with  knots ; 

Thus  Jove's  great  son  is  by  his  offspring  led 

To  silver-footed  Hebe's  rosy  bed. 

How  Berenice  shone !    her  parent's  pride, 
Virtue  her  aim,  and  wisdom  was  her  guide: 
Sure  Venus  with  light  touch  her  bosom  press'd, 
Infusing  in  her  soft  ambrosial  breast 
Pure,  constant  love:   hence  faithful  records  tell 
No  monarch  ever  lov'd  his  queen  so  well; 
No  queen  with  such  undying  passion  burn'd, 
For  more  than  equal  fondness  she  return 'd. 
Whene'er  to  love  the  chief  his  mind  unbends, 
To  his  son's  care  the  kingdom  he  commends. 
Unfaithful  wives,  dissatisfied  at  home, 
Let  their  wild  thoughts  on  joys  forbidden  roam : 
Their  births  are  known,  yet  of  a  numerous  race, 
None  shows  the  features  of  the  father's  face. 
Venus,  than  all  the  goddesses  more  fair, 
The  lovely  Berenice  was  thy  care ; 
To  thee  'twas  owing,  gentle,  kind,  and  good, 
She  past  not  Acheron's  woe-working  flood. 
Thou  caught'st  her  e'er  she  went  where  spectres  dwell, 
Or  Charon,  the  grim  ferryman  of  hell ; 
And  in  thy  temple  plac'd  the  royal  fair, 
Thine  own  high  honor's  privilege  to  share. 
Thence  gentle  love  in  mortals  she  inspires 
And  soft  solicitudes,  and  sweet  desires. 


168  •  THEOCRITUS.  [Lacr.  VIL 

The  fair  Deipyle  to  Tydeus  bare 

Stern  Diomed,  the  thunderbolt  of  war; 

And  Thetis,    goddess  of  the  azure  wave, 

To  Peleus  brought  Achilles,  bold  and  brave; 

But  Berenice  nobler  praise  hath  won, 

Who  bore  great  Ptolemy,  as  great  a  son: 

And  sea-girt  Cos  receiv'd  thee  soon  as  born, 

When  first  thine  eyes  beheld  the  radiant  morn. 

For  there  thy  mother  to  Lucina  pray'd, 

Who  sends  to  those  who  suffer  child-bed,  aid. 

She  came,  and  friendly  to  the  genial  bed, 

A  placid,  sweet  tranquillity  she  shed 

O'er  all  her  limbs ;    and  thus,  serene  and  mild, 

Like  his  lov'd  sire,  was  born  the  lovely  child. 

Cos  saw,  and  fondling  in  her  arms  the  boy, 
Thus  spoke,  transported,  with  the  voice  of  joy : 
'  Quick  rise  to  light,  auspicious  babe  be  born ! 
And  me  with  equal  dignity  adorn 
As  Phoebus  Delos: — on  fam'd  Triops'  brow, 
And  on  the  neighboring  Dorian  race  bestow 
Just  honors — and  as  favorably  smile, 
As  the  god  views  with  Joy  Rhensea's  fertile  isle.' 
The  island  spoke;    and  thrice  the  bird  of  Jove 
His  pinions    clang'd,  resounding  from  above ; 
Jove's  omen  thunder'd  from  his  eagle's  wings; 
Jove  loves  and  honors  venerable  kings. 
But  whom  in  infancy  his  care  befriends, 
Him  power,  and  wealth,  and  happiness  attends : 
He  rules,  belov'd,  unbounded  tracts  of  land, 
And  various  oceans  roll  at  his  command. 
Unnumber'd  nations  view  their  happy  plains, 
Fresh  fertiliz'd  by  Jove's  prolific  rains : 
But  more,  like  Egypt,  can  such  plenty  boast, 
When  genial  Nile  overflows  the  humid  coast : — 
Here,  too,  O  Ptolemy!    beneath  thy  sway 
What  cities  glitter  to  the  beams  of  day  1 
Lo  !   with  thy  statelier  pomp  no  kingdom  vies, 
While  round  thee  thrice  ten  thousand  cities  rise. 
Struck  by  the  terror  of  thy  flashing  sword, 
Syria  bow'd  down,  Arabia  call'd  thee  lord; 
Phoenicia  trembled,  and  the  Lybian  plain, 
With  the  black  JBthiop,  own'd  thy  wide  domain: 
E'en  Lesser  Asia  and  her  isles  grew  pale, 
As  o'er  the  billows  pass'd  thy  crowd  of  sail. 
Earth  feels  thy  nod,  and  all  the  subject  sea ; 
And  each  resounding  river  rolls  for  thee. 
And  while  around  thy  thick  battalions  flash, 
Thy  proud  steeds  neighing  for  the  warlike  clash, 
Through  all  thy  marts  the  tide  of  commerce  flows, 
And  wealth  beyond  a  monarch's  grandeur  glows. 
Such  gold-hair'd  Ptolemy  !   whose  easy  port 
Speaks  the  soft  polish  of  the  manner'd  court ; 


300A.C/I  THEOCRITUS.  169 

And  whose  severer  aspect,  as  he  wields 

The  spear,  dire-blazing,  frowns  in  tented  fields. 

And  though  he  guards,  while  other  kingdoms  own 

His  conquering  arras,  the  hereditary  throne, 

Yet  in  vast  heaps  no  useless  treasure  stor'd 

lies,  like  the  riches  of  an  emmet's  hoard ; 

To  mighty  kings  his  bounties  he  extends, 

To    state    confederate,  and  illustrious  friends. 

No  bard  at  Bacchus'  festival  appears, 

Whose  lyre  has  power  to  charm  the  ravish'd  ears, 

But  he  bright  honors  and  rewards  imparts, 

Due  to  his  merits,  equal  to  his  arts : 

And  poets  hence,  for  deathless  song  renown'd, 

The  generous  fame  of  Ptolemy  resound. 

At  what  more  glorious  can  the  wealthy  aim, 

Than  thus  to  purchase  fair  and  lasting  fame  ? 

The  great  Atridae  this  alone  enjoy, 

While  all  the  wealth  and  spoil  of  plunder'd  Troy, 

That  'scap'd  the  raging  flame,  or  whelming  wave 

Lies  buried  in  oblivion's  greedy  grave. 

Close  trode  great  Ptolemy,  at  virtue's  call, 

His  father's  footsteps,  but  surpast  them  all; 


THE  SYRACUSAN"  GOSSIPS. 

FROM   THE   FIFTEENTH   IDYL 

SUBJECT. — Two  Syracusan  women,  who  had  travelled  to  Alexandria,  go  to  see  the 
solemnity  of  Adonis'  festival,  which  had  been  prepared  by  Arsinoe,  the  queen  of 
Ptolemy  Philadelphus. 

CHARACTERS. — Gorgo,  Eunoe,  Praxinoe,  Old  Woman,  and  Stranger. 

Gor.     Ho  !   is  Praxinoe  within  ? 

Eu.    Dear  Gorgo ! 
How  late  you  are !   she  is  within. 

Prax.     I  wonder 

That  you  are  come  at  last.     Quick,  Eunoe,  bring 
*  A  seat,  and  place  a  cushion. 

Eu.     'Tis  all  right. 

Gor.    Breath  of  my  body  !   I  have  scarce  escaped 
Alive  to  you,  Praxinoe ;   through  such  crowds 
Of  people,  and  of  chariots !   everywhere 
Clattering  of  shoes,  and  whisk  of  soldiers'  cloaks, 
And  such  a  weary  way ;  and  you  are  lodged 
At  such  a  distance  1 

Prax.     Why  that  wise-acre 
Has  found  me  out  a  den,  and  not  a  house, 
At  the  world's  end,  for  fear  we  should  be  neighbors : 
My  constant  plague ;  and  all  for  spite  and  envy 
He  thwarts  me  thus ! 


170  THEOCRITUS.  [LEOT.  VII. 

Gor.    Mother  of  Venus !   softly  ! 
The  little  one  is  by;    speak  not  so  freely 
Of  your  good  husband :   Madam,  do  but  look 
How  the  brat  eyes  you! 

Prax.    That's  a  good,  brave  boy  I 
Pretty  Zopyrion!    I'm  not  speaking,  love, 
Of  your  good  dad. 

Gor.    By  Proserpine,  the  child 
Has  scent  of  it — No ;  dad  is  good. 

Prax.    That  person 

Some  time  ago,  (we'll  speak  of  all  as  happening 
Some  time  ago,)  he  was  to  bring  me  rouge, 
And  nitre,  from  a  shop ;  when  home  he  came 
With  salt,  forsooth !   an  overgrown,  long  looby ! 

Gor.    And,  troth  my  own  good  man  has  these  same  pranks ; 
A  very  sieve  for  money :   yesterday, 
He  buys  me,  at  seven  drachmas,  five  old  fleeces 
From  backs  of  rotten  sheep ;   as  coarse  as  dogs'  hair ; 
Such  riff-raff!  refuse  all,  and  good  for  nothing. 
But  come — come ;   take  your  clasp'd  robe,  and  your  scarf, 
And  let's  away  to  Ptolemy's  rich  palace 
And  see  Adonis :  there's  a  stately  show, 
I  hear,  preparing  by  the  queen. 

Prax.     Yes,  yes; 

With  grand  ones,  all  is  grand.     Now  as  you've  seen 
And  heard,  do  tell  me  all  you've  heard  and  seen, 
For  I  see  nothing. 

Gor.    Nay,  nay,  'tis  full  time 

That  we  should,  e'en,  be  going :  they,  who've  leisure, 
Should  make  the  most  of  holy  days.  • 

Prax.    'Some  water: 

Quick,  fetch  it,  Eunoe :   you've  grown  dainty,  jade : 
Here,  place  it,  wench:  'cats  love  to  sleep  on  cushions:* 
Come,  stir  yourself :   the  water :   I  must  wash 
Before  I  go :  see  how  the  daudle  brings  it ! 
Well  pour  away ;   soft,  soft !  you  pour  away, 
Girl !   with  a  vengeance !   see,  you  giddy  slut  1 
How  you  have  wetted  all  my  robe !   there — hold  I 
Thank  Heaven,  I'm  wash'd  however.     Where's  the  key 
Of  the  great  chest  ?  go,  Eunoe,  bring  it  hither. 

Gor.     Praxinoe,  I  own,  that  robe  with  clasps 
Becomes  you  mightily.      What  might  it  cost 
When  in  the  piece  ? 

Prax.    Oh  Gorgo !   do  not  ask  me ! 
More  than  two  pounds  of  silver,  and  the  making 
Was  near  the  death  of  me ! 

Gor.     'Tis  made,  however  ; 
And  to  your  mind,  at  last. 

Prax.     Why,  yes,  indeed: 

You  have  well  said :  it  does,  I  think,  become  me. 
Now  quick  my  scarf  and  parasol :  stay,  girl, 
Set  the  folds  tidy.    Child!   I  cannot  take  you; 


300A.O.]  THEOCRITUS.  171 

Hobgoblin  is  abroad ;  the  horses  bite : 
Cry,  as  you  may,  I  will  not  have  you  crippled. 
Let's  go.     Pray  Phrygia!   mind  the  little  one, 
And  try  divert  him.     Stop — call  in  the  dog: 
Mind,  shut  the  street-door  after  us.     Good  Godsl    ' 
There  is  a  crowd !  when  we  shall  pass,  or  how, 
I'm  quite  at  my  wits'  end !   they're  thick  as  ants. 
"Well — Ptolemy  1   thou  tread'st  thy  father's  steps. 
His  good  deeds  made  a  God  of  him ;  and  now 
Folks  may  pass  safely  in  a  crowd,  without 
Those  rogues'  tricks,  and  sly  gipsey  practices, 
Which  cheats  and  sharpers  used  to  practice  on  us: 
All  rogues  alike,  playing  at  fast  and  loose, 
And  bustling  for  one's  money.     Dearest  Gorgo  1 
"What  will  become  of  us  ?     See  the  king's  troopers ! 
Look,  look,  that  chestnut  horse  rears  bolt  upright ! 
What  a  wild,  furious  beast !    run,  Eunoe !   run, 
Out  of  his  way !  he'll  break  his  rider's  neck ; 
I  was  in  luck  to  leave  the  child  at  home  1 

Gor.    Take  heart,  Praxinoe :  we  have  past  them  now ; 
They've  gallop'd  towards  the  country. 

Prax.    Thank  my  stars ! 
I  can  take  breath  again  1   a  horse  and  snake 
I  never  could  abide,  quite  from  a  girl 
Come ;  make  a  push :   what  a  throng  presses  out 
Upon  us. 

Gor.     From  the  hall,  good  mother  ? 

Old  Woman.     Aye,  good  daughter. 

Gor.     Can  we  get  in  easily  ? 

Old  Woman.    The  Greeks,  sweet  wench,  got  Troy,  by  trying  for't ; 
All's  got  by  trying. 

Gor.    There  the  old  witch  goes, 
With  her  wise  saws  and  soothsayings.    These  women 
Seem  to  know  everything.     They'll  tell  us,  how 
Jove  kiss'd  his  wife.     See,  see,  Praxinoe ! 
What  crowds  about  the  gate  ! 

Prax.    My  stars  1   immense  1 
Here,  Gorgo,  give  your  hand  in  mine;   and  you 
Eunoe,  hold  Eutychus  by  hers:   mind,  girl, 
And  stick  close  to  her,  or  you'll  sure  be  lost: 
Let's  all  push  in,  at  once ;  mind,  Eunoe,  stick 
Close  to  us :  lack-a-day  1  there  goes  my  veil  1 
Look  Gorgo !   torn  in  two  1   my  dear  good  man, 
Heavens  bless  you,  do  not  tear  my  scarf  as  well! 

First  Man.    'Tis  not  my  fault,  dear  Madam ;  yet  Til  take 
What  care  I  can. 

Prax.    How  the  crowd  strive  and  press! 
Just  like  a  drove  of  pigs ! 

First  Man.    Take  heart,  dear  Madam  1 
We're  in,  and  safe  at  last. 

Prax.     And  so,  good  Sir, 
May  you  be  safe  and  sound,  the  longest  day 


172  THEOCRITUS.  [LECT.  VIL 

You  have  to  live.    A  good,  kind  gentleman! 

To  take  such  care  of  us.     Ah !  Eunoe's  squeez'd ! 

Force  your  way,  wench !   now,  push  !   that's  bravely  done. 

Now  we're  all  in ;  as  said  the  bridegroom  tuck'd 

In  bed  with  his  young  wife. 

Gor.     Praxinoe,  here  !  . 

Look  at  this  tapestry,  first ;   how  finely  woven  ! 
How  elegant  1  you'd  think  the  Gods  had  woven  it^ 

Prax.     Holy  Minerva  !  how  these  weavers  work ! 
See  how  like  painters  they  have  wrought  the  hangings 
With  pictures  large  as  life !  how  natural 
They  stand  out;  and  how  natural  they  move 
Upon  the  wall !   they  look  alive,  not  woven. 
"Well  1  man,  it  must  be  own'd,  is  a  wise  creature. 
Ah  !   there  he  is !   Adonis  !  wonderful ! 
All  on  a  couch  of  silver !  see,  the  down 
Seems  peeping  on  his  chin !  oh  sweet  Adonis ! 
They  say  he's  loved  in  hell. 

Second  Man.     Be  quiet,  hussies! 
Stop  that  eternal  clack.    You  prate,  and  prate, 
Like  two  caged  turtles,  with  that  broad  splay  brogue. 

Gor.    My  goodness !  who's  this  fellow  ?  prate  or  not, 
What  is  it,  Sir,  to  you  ?     You  quite  mistake 
Your  persons,  I  believe.     None  of  your  airs 
To  us.     Belike  you  think  you  may  talk  big 
To  Syracusans ;  but  we'd  have  you  know, 
We  are  from  Corinth,  Sir :  of  the  same  blood 
As  was  Bellerophon  :   our  dialect 
Peloponnesian  j  let  the  Dorians  speak 
The^  Doric  brogue ;  'tis  none  of  ours,  believe  me. 

Prax.     Sweet  Proserpine  1    I'd  send  the  fellow  packing 
That  dared  crow  over  me:  unless,  indeed, 
My  husband :  you  may  threaten,  Sir ;   but  I 
Will  not  be  cuft'd,  depend  on't. 

Gor.     Hush  !   Praxinoe ; 

The  Grecian  woman's  daughter's  going  to  sing 
About  Adonis :   she  that  sings  so  finely : 
In  plaintive  airs,  they  say,  she  rivals  Sperchis; 
Her  song  will  be  most  charming ;  that  I  know ; 
Now,  watch  her  die-away  soft  look;  she'll  sing. 


GREEK    GIRL    SZHgS. 

Oh  Venus !  swimming  all  in  gold !  oh  queen 
That  lovest  the  Golgiau  groves,  Idalia's  green ! 
And  steep,  o'erhanging  Eryx'  mountain  scene ! 
In  the  twelfth  morn  the  hours,  soft-footed,  glide, 
And  bring,  from  Acheron's  perennial  tide, 
Thy  own  Adonis:    slow  the  hours  may  roam, 
Yet  came  with  blessings,  when  at  last  they  came. 
Oh  daughter  of  Dione  1   thou  hast  given 
To  Berenice  charms  that  bloom  of  Heaven ; 


SOOA.C.]  THEOCRITUS.  173 

Pour'd  dews  ambrosial  in  her  mortal  breast, 
And  bid  her  live,  among  immortals  blest. 
Arsinoe  now,  her  grateful  daughter,  fair 
As  Helen's  self,  repays  thee  for  thy  care. 
Oh  graced  with  many  names  !   with  many  shrines  1 
Deck'd  by  her  hands  thy  own  Adonis  shines. 
For  him  each  tree  the  season's  fruitage  sheds  ; 
From  silver  baskets  breathe  the  garden-beds  ; 
Vases  of  gold  drop  Syrian  unguents  round  ; 
And  cakes  of  snowy  meal  with  flowers  are  crown'd; 
Smooth-kneaded  in  the  board,  with  female  toil, 
Of  luscious  honey,  and  of  liquid  oil 
Here  birds  and  reptiles  haunt;  while  anise  weaves 
Its  green  festoons,  and  bowers  them  in  its  leaves. 
Small  cupids,  perch'd  like  nightingales  on  high, 
Vault  midst  the  boughs,  and,  poised,  their  pinions  try. 
Oh,  ebony  !    oh,  gold  !   and  ivory  white  ! 
Oh  eagles,  bearing,  in  your  upward  flight, 
The  youthful  cup-bearer  of  Jove  I   behold, 
Softer  than  sleep,  the  purple  carpets  roll'd  ; 
The  weaver  of  Miletus  this  might  say, 
This  tribute  might  the  Samian  shepherd  pay. 
For  the  soft  pair  behold  the  couches  spread  ; 
Here  Venus,  there  Adonis,  gilds  the  bed  ; 
Adonis,  with  his  rose-tipp'd  arms,  now  seen 
In  bridegroom  bloominess  of  fair  eighteen; 
His  ruddy  lips  just  ripening  into  bliss, 
Impressing  smooth  the  soft  and  beardless  kiss. 
Then  now  let  Venus  with  her  bridegroom  woo; 
But  throngs  of  maidens,  with  the  morning  dew, 
Shall  to  the  frothy  waves  his  image  bear, 
With  trailing  vestures  and  dishevell'd  hair; 
And  thus  begin  the  song,  with  bosoms  bare  ; 
'  Thou  passest,  dear  Adonis  !  to  and  fro 
.  To  th'  upper  stream,  from  Acheron  below  : 
No  other  deini-god  has  thus  return'd; 
Atrides  ;  Ajax,  that  with  madness  burn'd  ; 
Hector,  of  Priam's  sons  the  proudest  joy  ; 
Patroclus  ;  Pyrrhus,  who  subverted  Troy  ; 
Deucalion's  race  ;  or  Lapithae  of  old  ; 
Or  Pelops'  flower;  or  those,  of  stern  Pelasgian  mould: 
Still  smile,  Adonis  !   bless  each  future  year  1 
Thou  kind  appearest  now  ;  thus  ever  kind  appear  T 

Gor.    You'll  own,  Praxinoe,  that  a  woman,  too, 
Is  a  wise  creature.     What  a  blessed  lady  1 
What  knowledge  is  within  that  little  head  ! 
And  so  sweet-voiced  too  !     But  'tis  time  for  home. 
My  good  man  has  not  dined  :   you  know  his  temper  : 
So  cross  and  choleric  !     I'd  not  have  you  meet  him, 
Ere  he  has  stay'd  his  stomach.     Dear  Adonis  ! 
Now  fare  thee  welll  joy  go  with  thy  procession. 


* 

OF  THM 


174  THEOCRITUS.  [LECT.  VII 


THE  INFANT  HERCULES. 

FROM    THE    TWENTY-FOURTH   IDYL. 

Young  Hercules  had  now  beheld  the  light 

Only  ten  months,  when  once  upon  a  night, 

Alcmena  having  washed,  and  given  the  breast 

To  both  her  heavy  boys,  laid  them  to  rest. 

Their  cradle  was  a  noble  shield  of  brass, 

Won  by  her  lord  from  slaughter'd  Pterilas. 

Gently  she  laid  them  down,  and  gently  laid 

Her  hand  on  both  their  heads,  and  yearned,  and  said: 

'  Sleep,  sleep,  my  boys  !    a  light  and  pleasant  sleep, 

My  little  souls,  my  twins,  my  guard,  and  keep  1 

Sleep  happy,  and  wake  happy  1'     And  she  kept 

Rocking  the  mighty  buckler,  and  they  slept. 

At  midnight  when  the  Bear  went  down,  and  broad 
Orion's  shoulder  lit  the  starry  road, 
There  came,  careering  through  the  opening  halls, 
On  livid  spires,  two  dreadful  animals — 
Serpents,  whom  Juno,  threatening  as  she  drove. 
Had  sent  there  to  devour  the  boy  of  Jove. 
Orbing  their  blood-fed  bellies  in  and  out, 
They  tower'd  along ;   and,  as  they  look'd  about, 
An  evil  fire  out  of  their  eyes  came  lamping; 
A  heavy  poison  dropp'd  about  their  champing. 

And  now  they  have  arrived,  and  think  to  fall 
To  their  dread  meal,  when  lo  I  (for  Jove  sees  all) 
The  house  is  lit  as  with  the  morning's  break, 
And  the  dear  children  of  Alcmena  wake. 
The  younger  one  as  soon  as  he  beheld 
The  evil  creatures  coming  on  the  shield, 
And  saw  their  loathsome  teeth,  began  to  cry 
And  shriek,  and  kick  away  the  clothes,  and  try 
All  his  poor  little  instincts  of  escape ; 
The  other,  grappling,  seized  them  by  the  nape 
Of  either  poisonous  neck,  for  all  their  twists, 
And  held  like  iron  in  his  little  fists. 

Alcmena  heard  the  noise,  and  '  Wake !'  she  cried ; 
Amphitryon,  wake !   for  terror  holds  me  tied ; 
'  Up  !   stay  not  for  the  sandals.     Hark !   the  child — 
The  youngest — how  he  shrieks  !     The  babe  is  wild ! 
And  see  the  walls  and  windows !     'Tis  as  light 
As  if  'twere  day,  and  yet  'tis  surely  night. 
There's  something  dreadful  in  the  house ;   there  is, 
Indeed,  dear  husband  1'     He  arose  at  this, 
And  seized  his  noble  sword,  which  overhead 
Was  always  hanging  at  the  cedar  bed. 

All  in  an  instant,  like  a  stroke  of  doom; 
Returning  midnight  smote  upon  the  room. 


300A.C.]  THEOCRITUS.  175 

Amphitryon  called,  and  woke  from  heavy  sleep 
His  household,  who  lay  breathing  hard  and  deep : 
'  Bring  lights  here  from  the  hearth  1  lights !  lights  1  and  guard 
•  The  door-ways  I  rise  ye  ready  laborers  hard  T 
He  said ;  and  lights  came  pouring  in,  and  all 
The  busy  house  was  up  in  bower  and  hall ; 
But  when  they  saw  the  little  suckler,  how 
He  grasped  the  monsters,  and  with  earnest  brow 
Kept  beating  them  together,  plaything-wise, 
They  shriek'd  aloud;  but  he,  with  laughing  eyes, 
Soon  as  he  saw  Amphitryon,  leaped  and  sprung, 
Child-like,  and  at  his  feet  the  dead  disturbers  flung 


LIBERALITY  TO  POETS  ENJOINED. 

FROM  THE  SIXTEENTH  IDYL. 

*  *  *  #  * 

Not  so  the  truly  wise  their  wealth  employ: 
'Tis  there's  to  welcome  every  coming  guest, 
And  blessing  each  departed  friend,  be  blest ; 
But  chiefly  their's  to  mark  with  high  regard 
The  Muse's  laurell'd  priest — the  holy  bard ; 
Lest  in  the  grave  their  unsung  glory  fade; 
And  their  cold  moan  pierce  Acheron's  dreary  shade — 
As  the  poor  laborer,  who,  with  portion  scant, 
Laments  his  long  hereditary  want. 
What  though  Aleua's  and  the  Syrian's  domes 
Saw  crowding  myriads  fill  their  festal  rooms ; 
"What  though  o'er  Scopas'  fields  rich  plenty  flow'd 
And  herds  innumerous  through  his  valleys  low'd ; 
What  though  the  beautiful  Creondse  drove 
Full  many  a  beauteous  flock  through  many  a  grove ; 
Yet  when  expiring  life  could  charm  no  more, 
And  their  sad  spirits  sought  the   Stygian  shore, 
Their  grandeur  vanish'd  with  their  vital  breath, 
And  riches  could  not  follow  them  in  death  1 
Lo!    these  for  many  a  rolling  age  had  lain 
In  blank  oblivion,  with  the  vulgar  train,         • 
Had  not  their  bard,  the  mighty  Ceian,  strung 
His  many-chorded  harp,  and  sweetly  sung, 
In  various  tones,  each  high-resounding  name, 
And  giv'n  to  long  posterity  their  fame. 

Verse  can  alone  the  steed  with  glory  grace, — 
Whose  wreaths  announce  the  triumph  of  the  race  I 
Could  Lycia's  chiefs,  or  Cycnus'  changing  hues, 
Or  Ilion  live  with  no  recording  muse  ? 
Not  e'en  Ulysses,  who  through  dangers  ran 
For  ten  long  years  in  all  the  haunts  of  man; 
Who  e'en  descended  to  the  depths  of  hell, 
And  fled  unmangled  from  the  Cyclop's  cell; 
Not  he  had  lived,  but  sunk,  oblivion's  prey, 
Had  no  kind  poet  pour'd  the  unfading  ray. 


176  THEOCRITUS.  [Liscr.  VII 

Thus,  too,  Philsetius  had  in  silence  past, 
And  nameless,  old  Laertes  breath'd  his  lasts 
And  good  Eumseus  fed  his  herds  in  vain, 
But  for  Ionia's  life -inspiring  strain. 
Lo  !   while  the  spirit  of  the  spendthrift  heir 
Wings  the  rich  stores  araass'd  by  brooding  care, 
"While  the  dead  miser's  scattering  treasures  fly, 
The  Muse  forbids  the  generous  man  to  die. 

Of  the  various  poems  of  Theocritus  that  have  come  down  to  the 
present  period,  the  poem  which  follows  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable. It  is  called  '  The  Epithalamium  of  Helen,'  and  is  evidently 
an  imitation  of  the  Song  of  Solomon.  During  the  time  that  Theocritus 
dwelt  at  Alexandria,  that  translation  of  the  Bible  which  is  known  as 
(  The  Septuagint'  was  rendered  out  of  the  original  Hebrew  tongue  into 
the  Greek.  The  circumstances  attending  the  translation  were  the  fol- 
lowing : — 

King  Ptolemy,  being  anxious  to  enrich  the  Alexandrian  library — the 
foundation  of  which  he  had  recently  laid — with  every  valuable  literary 
production  that  he  could  command,  and  having  learned  that  the  Jews 
possessed,  in  their  Temple,  the  sacred  Book  of  their  laws,  requested  the 
High  Priest  of  Jerusalem  *to  send  a  number  of  the  most  learned  men  of 
that  city  down  to  Alexandria,  for  the  purpose  of  translating  the  work 
into  the  Greek  language.  The  Jews,  being  at  that  time  the  subjects  of 
the  King  of  Egypt,  Eleazar  the  High  Priest  readily  complied  with 
Ptolemy's  request;  and  accordingly  six  men  to  represent  each  of  the 
Israelitish  Tribes  were  sent  to  Alexandria,  and  there  remained  until  the 
important  work  was  completed.  This  translation  of  the  Scriptures  is 
the  one  that  our  Saviour  and  his  Apostles  uniformly  used  in  their  minis- 
trations, and  it  received  its  name  from  the  number  of  men  engaged  in 
preparing  it.  The  work  was  doubtless  familiar  to  Theocritus  and  the 
other  Greek  poets  of  the  Alexandrian  court ;  and  the  Song  of  Solomon 
attracting  their  particular  attention,  and  being  peculiarly  in  accordance 
with  Grecian  fancy,  soon  became  a  model  for  their  own  compositions : 


EPITHALAMIUM  OF  HELEN. 

FROM   THE    EIGHTEENTH   IDYL. 

In  Sparta  once  the  nuptial  chorus  flow'd, 
Where  Menelaus,  yellow-hair'd,  abode: 
Twelve  virgins,  noblest  of  the  city,  there 
Braided  with  blooming  hyacinth  their  hair: 
The,  pride  of  all  the  Spartan  maids  were  they, 
Who  to  the  painted  chamber  raised  the  lay. 
Where  Atreus'  younger  son  the  damsel  bore, 
The  bride,  dear  Helen,  and  had  closed  the  door ; 


300A.C.]  THEOCRITUS. 

They  in  one  strain  brake  sweetly  forth ;  and  beat 
Lightly  the'  ground  with  intertwining  feet. 
The  mansion  echoed  from  its  roof  around 
The  wedding  song,  with  hymeneal  sound: 
'Dost  thou,  dear  bridegroom  !  to  thy  chamber  flee 
In  twilight  eve,  and  weary  bows  thy  knee? 
Slumber  thy  eye-lids?   art  thou  bathed  in  wine, 
That  early  thus,  thy  limbs  in  rest  recline  ? 
Thou  might'st  have  rested  at  more  timely  hour, 
And  left  the  virgin  in  her  mother's  bower, 
To  sport,  a  maiden  with  her  fellow  maids, 
Till  day-break  glimmer'd  through  the  twilight  shades. 
For  thine  at  eve,  at  morn,  her  bridal  charms, 
And  gliding  years  shall  find  her  in  thine  arms. 
Oh  happy  .bridegroom!  when  thy  feet  had  stood* 
On  Spartan  soil,  where  rival  princes  wooed; 
Some  sneeze,  well-omen'd,  met  thee  on  thy  way 
The  blest  assurance  of  this  blissful  day. 
Rival  to  thee  no  demi-god  may  prove, 
Whose  bride's  great  father  is  Saturnian  Jove: 
Jove's  beauteous  daughter  now  reclines  with  thee, 
And  rests  between  the  self-same  canopy. 
Like  her  no  Grecian  damsel  treads  on  earth, 
And  great,  if  like  herself,  shall  prove 'her  infant  birth. 
Full  three -score  girls,  in  sportive  flight  we  stray'd, 
Like  youths  anointing,  where  along  the  glade 
The  bath  of  cool  Eurotas  limpid  play'd. 
But  none,  of  all,  with  Helen  might  compare, 
Nor  one  seem'd  faultless  of  the  fairest  fair. 
As  morn,  with  vermeil  visage,  looks  from  high, 
When  solemn  night  has  vauish'd  suddenly; 
When  winter  melts,  and  frees  the  frozen  hours, 
And  spring's  green  bough  is  gemm'd  with  silvery  flowers 
So  bloom'd  the  virgin  Helen  in  our  eyes, 
With  full  voluptuous  limbs,  and  towering  size  : 
In  shape,  in  height,  in  stately  presence,  fair, 
Straight  as  a  furrow  gliding  from  the  share  ; 
A  cypress  of  the  gardens,  spiring  high, 
A  courser  in  the  cars  of  Thessaly. 
So  rose-complexion'd  Helen .  charm'd  the  sight ; 
Our  Sparta's  grace,  our  glory,  and  delight. 
None  with  such  art    the  basket  at  her  side, 
The  needle's  picturing  threads,  inventive,  plied: 
So  cross'd  the  woof ;  the  sliding  shuttle  threw ; 
And  wove  the  web  in  variegated  hue. 
Or  when  across  the  lyre  her  hand  she  flings, 
And  Pallas,  broad  of  breast,  or  Dian  sings : 
None  in  the  minstrel's  craft  with  Helen  vies, 
And  all  the  Loves  are  laughing  in  her  eyes. 
Oh  fair  1   oh  graceful  damsel !   but  thy  name 
Is  now  a  matron's,  and  no  more  the  same. 
We,  by  the  dawnlight's  blush,  in  bounding  speed 
Will  print  the  verdure  of  the  leafy  mead  • 
12 


178  .         THEOCRITUS.  [LECT.  VII. 

And,  in  remembrance  of  our  Helen,  wreathe 
Chaplets  of  dewy  flowers,  that  fragrant  breathe; 
And  long  for  thee,  as  longs  the  yearling  lamb 
To  drain  the  milky  nectar  of  its  dam. 
We,  first,  a  crown  of  creeping  lotus  twine, 
And  on  a  shadowy  plane  suspend,  as  thine; 
We,  first,  beneath  a  shadowy  plain  distill 
From  silver  vase  the  balsam'8  liquid  rill ; 
Graved  on  the  bark  the  passenger  shall  see, 
Adore  me,  Traveller  1  I  am  Helen's  Tree  1' 

To  the  preceding  extensive  and  important  extracts  from  Theocritus' 
larger  poems,  we  add  the  following  epitaphs  : 


ON  ANACREON. 

Strangers,  who  near  this  statue  chance  to  roam, 
Let  it  awhile  your  studious  eyes  engage ; 

And  you  may  say,  returning  to  your  home, 
'I've  seen  the  image  of  the  Teian  sage — 

Best  of  the  bards,  who  grace  the  Muses'  page.' 
Then,  if  you  add,  '  Youth  loved  him  passing  well,' 

You  tell  them  all  he  was,  and  aptly  tell. 


ON  EUSTHENES,   THE  PHYSIOGNOMIST. 

To  Eusthenes,  the  first  in  wisdom's  list, 
Philosopher  and  Physiognomist, 
This  tomb  is  rais'd :  he  from  the  eye  could  scan 
The  cover'd  thought,  and  read  the  very  man. 
By  strangers  was  his   decent  bier  adorn'd, 
By  strangers  honor'd,  and  by  poets  mourn'd : 
Whate'er  the  Sophist  merited  he  gain'd, 
And  dead,  a  grave  in  foreign  realms  obtain'd. 


ON  THE  STATUE  OF  AESCULAPIUS. 

The  son  of  Paeon  to  Miletus  came 
To  meet  his  Nicias  of  illustrious  name  ; 
He  in  deep  reverence  of  his  guest  divine, 
Deck'd  with  the  daily  sacrifice  his  shrine; 
And  of  the  god  this  cedar  statue  bought — 
A  finished  work,  by  skilled  Ee'tion  wrought. 
The  sculptor,  with  a  lavish  sum  repaid, 
Here  all  the  wonders  of  his  art  display'd. 


ON  A  FRIEND  DROWNED  AT  SEA. 

Risk  not  your  life  upon  the  wintery  sea; 
With  all  his  care  man's  life  must  fragile  be 


295  A.O.] 


AttATUS. 


179 


My  Cleonicus  sped  from  Syria's  shore 
To  -wealthy  Thasos,  and  rich  cargo  bore; — 
Ah  !   passing  rich : — but  as  the  Pleiad's  light 
In  ocean  set,  he  with  them  sank  in  night 


ON'  EURYMEDON. 

Thine  early  death,  ah!  brave  Eurymedon, 
Hath  made  an  orphan  of  thine  infant  son  ; 
For  thee,  this  tomb  thy  grateful  country  rears; 
For  him  she  bids  thee  calm  a  parent's  fears ; — 
Secure,  thy  rest  do  thou  with  heroes  take — 
He  shall  be  honor'd  for  his  father's  sake. 


ON  HIPPONAX,   THE  SATIRIST. 

Here  lies  Hipponax,  to  the  Muses  dear. 
Traveller !  if  conscience  sting,  approach  not  near  I 
But  if  sincere  of  heart,  and  free  from  guile, 
Here  boldly  sit,  and  even  sleep  awhile. 


Aratus,  the  friend  and  associate  of  Theocritus,  was  born  at  Soli,  or  at 
Tarsus,  in  Asia  Minor,  about  295  A.C.  He  was  brought  up  to  the 
medical  profession,  and  attained  to  a  sufficient  degree  of  eminence  in  it 
to  become  physician  to  Antigonus  Gonatas,  king  of  Macedonia.  His 
genius,  however,  strongly  inclined  him  to  poetry ;  and  he,  therefore,  soon 
abandoned  his  profession,  with  all  its  prospective  advantages,  and  thence- 
forth devoted  himself  entirely  to  the  Muses. 

Macedonia  was  not,  however,  at  that  time  in  a  condition  properly  to 
appreciate  eminent  poetic  genius ;  and  Aratus,  therefore,  with  many 
other  contemporary  bards,  sought  the  more  congenial  atmosphere  of  the 
Egyptian  court,  and  there  his  eminence  as  a  poet  was  at  once  recognized, 
and  he  became  intimately  associated  with  the  wits,  whom  Ptolemy's 
munificence  had  drawn  around  him.  Like  Lycophron,  Theocritus,  and 
his  other  associates,  his  life  presents,  from  the  time  of  his  settlement  in 
Alexandria,  few  incidents  of  importance ;  and  doubtless  it  glided  along 
amid  the  same  luxurious  habits  which  marked  the  course  of  all  the 
geniuses  under  the  patronage  of  the  Alexandrian  monarch.  The  period 
of  his  death  is  unknown  ;  but  he  is  supposed  by  Suidas  to  have  returned, 
in  advanced  life,  to  Macedonia,  and  there  to  have  ended  his  days. 

Of  the  various  works  of  Aratus  an  astronomical  poem,  entitled  l  The 
Phenomena,'  was  by  far  the  most  distinguished  ;  and  indeed  this  poem 
breathes  a  spirit  of  elevated  purity,  to  be  accounted  for  only  on  the  sup- 
position that  the  pure  poetic  spirit  of  the  Old  Testament  poetry  had  now 
begun  to  exert  a  marked  influence  upon  the  minds  of  the  Alexandrian 


180  ARATUS.  [LECT.  VII 

poets,  l  The  Phsenomena'  was  so  highly  esteemed  by  the  Romans,  that  it 
was  first  translated  into  the  Latin  language  by  the  celebrated  orator  Cicero, 
some  of  whose  version  is  still  extant,  and  afterwards  by  Germanicus,  the 
grandson  of  the  emperor  Augustus.  The  poem  itself  is  simple  and  un- 
artificial,  and  contains  little  more  than  the  names  of  the  constellations, 
and  their  order,  as  painted  on  the  celestial  globe,  and  the  several  appear- 
ances of  the  moon  and  stars,  as  indicative  of  atmospheric  changes; 
though  when  the  author  digresses  to  general  nature,  and  particularly  to 
the  instincts  of  animals,  he  displays  not  merely  accurate  observation,  but 
the  faculty  of  coloring  objects,  possessed  only  by  the  true  poet. 

To  have  been  translated  by  so  eminent  a  genius  as  Cicero,  is  certainly 
as  high  an  honor  as  any  Grecian  poet  could  have  anticipated ;  but  a 
higher  one  awaited  Aratus ;  for  it  was  from  him  that  St.  Paul,  in  his 
oration  before  the  Athenians  on  Mar's  Hill,  quoted,  when  he  exclaimed, 
c  For  in  Him  we  live,  and  move,  and  have  our  being,  as  certain  of  your 
own  poets  have  said;  for  we  are  also  his  offspring.'  Besides  his  astron- 
omical poem,  Aratus  wrote  various  hymns  and  inscriptions,  none  of  which, 
however,  seem  ever  to  have  attained  a  sufficient  degree  of  celebrity  to 
make  them  an  object  of  preservation  by  his  successors.  We  shall,  there- 
fore, give  only  the  two  following  extracts  : 


PROEM  TO  THE  PHENOMENA. 

From  Jove  begin  my  song ;  nor  ever  be 

The  name  unutter'd :  all  are  full  of  thee ; 

The  ways,  and  haunts  of  men ;  the  heavens  and  the  sea. 

On  thee  our  being  hangs ;  in  thee  we  move ; 

All  are  thy  offspring,  and  the  seed  of  Jove. 

Benevolent,  he  warns  mankind  to  good, 

Urges  to  toil,  and  prompts  the  hope  of  food. 

He  shows  when  best  the  yielding  glebe  will  bear 

The  goaded  oxen,  and  the  cleaving  share. 

He  shows  what  seasons  smile,  to  delve  the  plain. 

To  set  the  plant,  or  sow  the  scatter'd  grain. 

'Twas  he  that  placed  those  glittering  signs  on  high, 

Those  stars,  dispers'd  throughout  the  circling  sky  ; 

From  these  the  seasons  and  the  times  appear, 

The  labors,  and  .the  harvests  of  the  year. 

Hence  men  to  him  their  thankful  homage  raise, 

Him,  first  and  last,  their  theme  of  joy  and  praise; 

Hail,  Father  !  wondrous !  whence  all  blessings  spring  1 

Thyself  the  source  of  every  living  thing ! 

Oh  of  mellifluous  voice !   ye  Muses,  hear  ! 

And  if  my  prayer  may  win  your  gracious  ear, 

Tour  inspiration,  all  ye  Muses,  bring, 

And  aid  my  numbers,  while  the  stars  I  sing. 


295  A.C.]  A  RAT  US.  181 


PROGNOSTICS   OF   WEATHER, 

Be  this  the  sign  of  wind :  with  rolling  sweep 

High  swells  the  sea ;  long  roarings  echo  deep 

From  billow-breaking  rocks;  shores  murmur  shrill, 

Though  calm  from  storm,  and  howls  the  topmost  hill 

The  heron  with  unsteady  motion  flies, 

And  shoreward  hastes,  with  loud  and  piercing  cries ; 

Borne  o'er  the  deep,  his  flapping  pinions  sail, 

While  air  is  ruffled  by  the  rising  gale. 

The  coots,  that  wing  through  air  serene  their  way, 

'Gainst  coming  winds  condense  their  close  array. 

The  diving  cormorants  and  wild-ducks  stand, 

And  shake  their  dripping  pinions  on  the  sand: 

And  off-,  a  sudden  cloud  is  seen  to  spread, 

With  length'ning  shadow,  o'er  the  mountain's  head. 

By  downy-blossom'd  plants,  dishevell'd  strown, 

And  hoary  thistles'  tops,  is  wind  foreshown : 

When  those  behind  impelling  those  before, 

On  the  still  sea  they  slowly  float  to  shore. 

Watch  summer  thunder  break,  or  lightnings  fly 

Wind  threatens  from  that  quarter  of  the  sky ; 

And,  where  the  shooting  stars,  in  gloomy  night, 

Draw  through  the  heavens  a  track  of  snowy  light, 

Expect  the  coming  wind ;   but,  if  in  air 

The  meteors  cross,  shot  headlong  here  and  there, 

From  various  points,  observe  the  winds  arise, 

And  thwarting  blasts  blow  diverse  from  the  skies. 

When  lightnings  in  the  north  and  south  appear, 

And  east  and  west,  the  mariner  should  fear 

Torrents  of  air,  and  foamings  of  the  main; 

These  numerous  lightnings  flash  o'er  floods  of  ram. 

And  oft  when  showers  are  threat'ning  from  on  high, 

The  clouds,  like  fleeces,  hang  beneath  the  sky: 

Girding  heaven's  arch,  a  double  rainbow  bends, 

Or,  round  some  star,  a  black'ning  haze  extends. 

The  birds  of  marsh,  or  sea,  insatiate  lave, 

And  deeply  plunge,  with  longings  for  the  wave. 

Swift  o'er  the  pool  the  fluttering  swallows  rove, 

And  beat  their  breasts  the  baffled  lake  above. 

Hoarse  croak  the  fathers  of  the  reptile  brood, 

Of  gliding  water-snakes  the  fearful  food : 

At  break  of  day,  the  desert-haunting  owl 

Lengthens  from  far  her  solitary  howl: 

The  clamoring  crow  is  perch'd,  where  high  the  shore 

With  jutting  cliff  o'erhangs  the  ocean  roar ; 

Or  with  dipp'd  head  the  river  wave  divides, 

Dives  whole-immers'd,  or  cawing  skims  the  tides. 

Nor  less  the  herds  for  coming  rain  prepare, 

And  skyward  look,  and  snuff  the  showery  air. 

On  walls  the  slimy-creeping  snails  abound, 

And  earth-worms  trail  their  length,  the  entrails  of  the  ground ; 


182  DIG  TIM  US.— AS  OLE  PI  AD  ES.  [LECT.  VIL 

The  cock's  young  brood  ply  oft  the  pluming  bill, 

And  chirp,  as  drops  from  eaves  on  tinkling  drops  distil. 

A  passing  notice  of  the  contemporaries  of  Theocritus  and  Aratus, 
Diotimus,  Asclepiades,  Phsedimus,  Nicias,  and  the  two  poetesses,  Nossis 
and  Anyte — will  close  our  present  remarks. 

Diotimus  was  a  grammarian  of  Adramyttium,  in  Mysia,  and  followed 
the  profession  of  a  teacher  at  Gargara  in  the  Troad — a  hard  lot,  which 
his  friend  Aratus  bemoans  in  an  epigram  still  extant.  Little  more  is 
known  of  his  history  than  that  he  left  behind  him  a  very  important  Com- 
mon Place  Book,  and  was  an  extensive  writer  of  such  epigrams  as  the 
following : 

ON  A  FLUTE-PLAYER. 

Man's  hopes  are  spirits  with  fast-fleeting  wings. 

See  where  in  death  our  hopeful  Lesbus  lies ! 
Lesbus  is  dead,  the  favorite  of  kings  1 

Hail  light-wing'd  Hopes,  ye  swiftest  deities ! 
On  his  cold  tomb  we  carve  a  voiceless  flute, 
For  Pluto  hears  not,  and  the  grave  is  mute. 

Asclepiades  was  a  native  of  the  island  of  Samos,  and  was  an  epigram- 
matic writer  of  much  celebrity.  He  was  the  friend,  and  by  some  critics  is 
supposed  to  have  been  the  teacher  of  Theocritus ;  but  the  evidence  given 
to  sustain  this  idea  is  not  at  all  conclusive.  The  following  specimens 
fairly  present  the  general  spirit  of  his  epigrams : — 


ON  THE  PICTURE  OF  BERENICE. 

This  form  is  Cytherea's — nay 

Tis  Berenice's  I  protest; 
So  like  to  both,  you  safely  may 

Give  it  to  either  you  like  best. 

ON  HESIOD. 

Sweet  bard  of  Ascra!   on  thy  youthful  head 
The  Muses  erst  their  laurel-branches  spread, 
When  on  the  rugged  summits  of  the  rocks 
They  saw  thee  laid  amidst  thy  sultry  flocks. 
E'en  then  to  thee,  o'er  fair  Castalia's  wave, 
Their  sacred  powers  unbounded  empire  gave. 
By  this  inspired,  thy  genius  soared  on  high, 
And  ranged  the  vaulted  azure  of  the  sky; 
With  joy  transported,  viewed  the  blest  abodes, 
And  sang  the  extatic  raptures  of  the  gods. 


295A.C.]  PH^EDIMUS.— NIC  I  AS.  183 

Phaedimus,  according  to  Stephanus,  was  a  native  of  Bisanthe,  in  Mace- 
donia ;  and  though  professedly  an  epigrammatic  poet,  he  was,  according 
to  Athenseus,  the  author  of  an  important  epic  poem  entitled  Heraclei. 
Four  of  his  epigrams  are  preserved  in  the  Greek  Anthology ;  and  his 
verses  have  a  place  in  the  Garland  of  Meleager  also.  The  following 
elegy  is,  perhaps,  the  most  complete  of  his  remains : 


HEROIC  LOVE. 

This  bow  that  erst  the  earth-born  dragon  slew, 

O  mighty  God  of  Day,  restrain ! 
Not  now  those  deadly  shafts  are  due 

That  stretch  the  woodland  tyrants  on  the  plain. 
Rather,  0  Phoebus,  bring  thy  nobler  darts, 
With  which  thou  piercest  gentle  hearts — 
Bid  them  Themistio's  breast  inspire 
With  Love's  bright  flame  and  Valor's  holy  fire: 
Pure  Valor,  firm,  heroic  Love — 
Twin  deities,  supreme  o'er  gods  above, 
United  in  the  sacred  cause 
Of  his  dear  native  laud  and  freedom's  laws. 
So  let  him  win  the  glorious  crown 
His  fathers  wore — bright  meed  of  fair  renown. 


Nicias,  an  epigrammatic  writer,  of  whom  nothing  more  is  now,  however, 
known  than  that  he  flourished  at  this  period,  and  that  he  was  the  friend 
to  whom  Theocritus  addressed  his  eleventh  and  thirteenth  idyls.  He  is 
supposed  to  have  been  a  native  of  Miletus,  in  Asia  Minor;  and  from  his 
intimacy  with  Theocritus,  it  is  conjectured  that  he  passed  some  part  of 
his  life  at  the  court  of  Alexandria.  The  first  of  the  two  following  epi- 
grams is  a  beautiful  conceit.  The  nymph  of  the  fountain,  by  the  side  of 
which  Simus  had  erected  a  monument  to  his  child,  is  supposed  to  utter 
the  following  plaintive  language  to  the  passer-by : 


ON  THE  TOMB  OF  AN  INFANT. 

Stay,  weary  traveller,  stay ! 

Beneath  these  boughs  repose ! 
A  step  out  of  the  way, 

My  little  fountain  flows. 
And  never  quite  forget 

The  monumental  urn, 
Which  Simus  here  hath  set 

His  buried  child  to  mourn. 


184  NOSSIS  .—A  N  YT  E-.  [LECT.  VII. 


THE  BEE. 

Many-colored,  sunshine-loving,  spring-betokening  bee  I 
Yellow  bee,  so  mad  for  love  of  early-blooming  flowers- 
Till  thy  waxen  cell  be  full,  fair  fall  thy  work  and  thee, 
Buzzing  round  the  sweetly-smelling  garden  plots  and  bowers. 

Nossis,  a  Greek  poetess,  was  of  a  little  earlier  date  than  the  poets  last 
noticed.  She  was  a  native  of  Locri,  in  southern  Italy,  and  nourished 
about  £10  A.C.  Of  her  poems  twelve  epigrams  of  considerable  beauty 
still  remain ;  but  from  these  all  we  can  learn  of  her  history  is,  that  her 
mother's  name  was  Theuphila,  and  that  she  had  a  daughter  called,  in  the 
following  inscription,  Melinna : 


ON  AN  IMAGE  OF   HER  DAUGHTER. 

In  this  loved  stone  Melinna's  self  I  trace, 

'Tis  her's  that  form,  'tis  her's  that  speaking  face 

How  like  her  mother's !     Oh  what  joy  to  see 
Ourselves  reflected  in  our  progeny  1 


LOVE. 

What  in  life  is  half  so  sweet 
As  the  hour  when  lovers  meet  ? 
Not  the  joys  that  fortune  pours 
Nor  Hymettus'  fragrant  stores. 
Thus  says  Nossis — Whosoe'er 
Venus  takes  not  to  her  care, 
Never  shall  the  roses  know 
In  her  blooming  bowers  that  grow. 


ON  THE  .PICTURE  OF  THYMARETE. 

• 

On  yonder  tablet  graved  I  see 
The  form  of  my  Thymarete", — 
Her  gracious  smile,  her  lofty  air, 
Warm  as  in  life,  all  blended  there. 
Her  little  fondled  dog,  that  keeps 
Still  watch  around  her  while  she  sleeps, 
•        Would  in  that  shape  his  mistress  trace, 
And  'fawning,  lick  her  honored  face. 

Anyte,  of  Tegea,  in  Arcadia,  is  numbered  among  the  lyric  poets  by 
Meleager,  in  whose  list  she  stands  first,  and  by  Antipater  of  Thessalonica, 
who  names  her  with  Praxilla,  Myro,  and  Sappho,  and  calls  her  the  female 


300  A.C.]  ANYTE.  185 

• 

Homer — an  epithet  used  either  in  reference  to  the  martial  spirit  of  some 
of  her  epigrams,  or  to  their  antique  character.  Her  epigrams  are,  for 
the  most  'part,  in  the  style  of  the  ancient  Doric  choral  songs,  like  the 
poems  of  Alcman ;  and  for  this  reason  we  should  be  inclined  to  place  her 
at  a  much  earlier  period  than  the  date  assigned  her  by  Tatian,  which  is 
300  A.C.  At  whatever  period,  however,  Anyte  may  have  lived,  her  epi- 
grams, as  will  be  perceived  from  the  following,  are  both  spirited  and  beau- 
tiful in  the  extreme : 


ON  THE  ENTRANCE  TO  A  CAVERN. 

Stranger,  beneath  this  rock  thy  limbs  bestow — 
Sweet,  'mid  the  green  leaves,  breezes  whisper  here. 

Drink  the  cool  wave,  while  noontide  fervors  glow ; 
For  such  the  rest  to  wearied  pilgrims  dear. 


ON  A  GROVE   OF  LAUREL. 

"Whoe'er  thou  art,  recline  beneath  the  shade, 
By  never-fading  leaves  of  laurel  made; 
And  here  awhile  thy  thirst  securely  slake, 
With  the  pure  beverage  of  the  crystal  lake : 
So  shall  your  languid  limbs,  by  toil  oppress'd, 
And  summer's  burning  heat,  -find  needful  rest, 
And  renovation  from  the  balmy  power 
That  stirs  and  breathes  within  this  verdant  bower. 


ON  A  DOLPHIN  CAST  ASHORE. 

No  more  exulting  o'er  the  buoyant  sea, 
High  shall  I  raise  my  head,  in  gambols  free : 
Nor  by  some  gallant  ship  breathe  out  the  air, 
Pleased  with  my  own  bright  image  figured  there. 
The  storm's  black  mist  has  forced  me  to  the  land, 
And  laid  me  lifeless  on  this  couch  of  sand. 


ON  A  STATUE  OF  VENUS. 

NEAR   THE    SEA    COAST. 

Cythera  from  this  craggy  steep 
Looks  downward  on  the  glassy  deep, 
And  hither  calls,  the  breathing  gale, 
Propitious  to  the  venturous  sail ; 
"While  ocean  flows  beneath,  serene, 
Awed  by  the  smile  of  beauty's  queen. 


186  ANYTE.  [LKOT.  V! 


ON  THE  YOUNG  VIRGIN  PHILLIDA. 

la  this  sad  tomb  where  Phillida  is  laid, 
Her  mother  oft  invokes  the  gentle  shade, 
And  calls,  in  hopeless  grief,  on  her  who  died, 
In  the  full  bloom  of  youth  and  beauty's  pride; 
Who  left,  a  virgin,  the  bright  realms  of  day, 
On  gloomy  Acheron's  pale  coasts  to  stray. 


ON  THE  MAID  ANTIBIA. 

The  maid  Antibia  I  lament,  for  whom 
Full  many  a  suitor  sought  her  father's  hall; 
For  beauty,  prudence,  famed  was  she;  but  doom 
Destructive  overwhelmed  the  hopes  of  all. 


Kttlnn  tjjt 


CALLIMACHUS.— APOLLONItfS  RHODITJS.— LEONIDES.— CLEANTHES. 

— RHIANUS.— ANTAGORAS.— NICJ3NETUS.— DIOSCO- 

RIDES.— CUPHORION.— DAMAGETES. 

f^ ALLIMACHUS  the  writer  who  next  demands  our  attention,  was,  ac- 
\J  cording  to  Suidas,  the  son  of  Battus  and  Mesatme,  emigrants  from  At- 
tica to  Cyrene,  a  Grecian  Colony  on  the  northern  coast  of  Africa,  and  was 
there  born  a  bout  295  A.C.  The  family  of  the  Battiadae  soon  rose  to  such 
eminence  at  Cyrene  as  to  hold  the  first  rank  amongst  its  citizens ;  and 
hence  Ovid  and  other  poets  frequently  call  our  author  simply  Battiades. 

Callimachus  was  educated  by  the  celebrated  grammarian  Hermocrates, 
and  after  he  had  completed  his  studies  he  opened  a  school  in  his  native 
place,  but  soon  removed  to  Eleasis,  a  suburb  of  Alexandria,  where  he 
taught  successfully  for  many  years,  and  had  for  his  pupils,  Eratosthenes, 
Pilostephanus,  Aristophanes  of  Byzantium,  Ister,  Hermippus,  and  Apol- 
lonius  Rhodius. 

Having  successfully  followed  his  profession  for  many  years,  and  by  it 
acquired  both  eminence  and  distinction,  Callimachus  now  began  to  feel 
an  ardent  desire  to  present  himself  before  the  literati  of  Alexandria  in 
the  capacity  of  poet — an  art  which  he  had  for  many  years  sedulously  cul- 
tivated. The  overwhelming  influence  and  popularity,  however,  of  the 
many  eminent  court  poets,  precluded  the  possibility  of  placing  himself 
before  the  public  under  circumstances  that  would,  in  any  degree,  warrant 
the  hope  of  success,  until  the  following  incident  occurred — the  invitation 
of  the  king  to  celebrate  the  dedication  of  Berenice's  hair  to  Venus — an 
invitation  which  embraced  not  only  the  wits  of  the  court,  but  also  all  other 
wits  of  the  city  and  its  vicinity. 

Euergetes  had  now  succeeded  Philadelphus  on  the  throne  of  Egypt ; 
and  as  the  provinces  of  Phoenicia  and  Palestine  embraced  this  opportu- 
nity to  attempt  to  throw  off  the  Egyptian  yoke,  he  wished  to  lose  no  time 
in  invading  and  subduing  them.  At  the  same  time  Berenice,  his  queen, 
through  the  ardor  of  her  attachment  to  the  king,  and  her  anxiety  for  his 
success,  vowed  that  should  the  expedition  prove  successful,  she  would,  on 
the  king's  return  to  Egypt,  dedicate  her  hair  to  Venus.  The  expedition 
proving  successful,  the  dedication  was  accordingly  made ;  and  in  order 


188  CALLIMACHUS.  [LECT. 

that  the  occurrence  might  assume  an  aspect  of  the  utmost  importance,  the 
astronomers  of  the  court  were  directed  to  place  the  hair  in  the  heavens  as 
a  constellation ;  and  hence  the  origin  of  the  constellation  Berenice. 

Lest,  however,  the  transfer  of  the  hair  to  the  heavens  should  not  create 
a  source  of  sufficiently  vivid  recollection  for  the  self-sacrificing  act  of  the 
queen,  the  king  ordered  that  the  poets  of  the  court  should  celebrate  the 
same  event  in  the  strains  of  immortal  verse ;  and  the  invitation,  as  al- 
ready observed,  including  other  poets  as  well  as  those  identified  with  the 
court,  Callimachus  at  once  entered  the  list,  and  so  complete  was  his  triumph 
over  all  his  competitors,  that  Ptolemy  immediately  invited  him  to  abandon 
his  school,  repair  to  court,  and  become  Royal  Librarian.  Thus  having  attain- 
ed the  height  of  his  ambition,  the  schoolmaster  thenceforth  became  merged 
in  the  royal  poet  and  courtier,  and  in  this  situation  Callimachus  remained 
from.  266  A.  C.,  until  his  death,  which  occurred  about  twenty  years  afterwards. 

Callimachus  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished  grammarians,  critics, 
and  poets  of  the  Alexandrian  period,  and  his  celebrity  surpassed  that  of 
nearly  all  the  other  Alexandrian  scholars  and  poets.  He  was,  also,  one  of 
the  most  fertile  writers  of  all  antiquity,  and  if  the  number  mentioned  by 
Suidas  be  correct,  he  was  the  author  of  nearly  eight  hundred  works, 
though  doubtless  most  of  them  were  not  of  great  extent,  if  he  followed 
one  of  his  own  maxims, — that  a  great  book  was  equal  to  a  great  evil.  The 
number  of  his  works  of  which  the  titles  or  fragments  are  now  known, 
amounts  to  upwards  of  forty.  But  what  we  possess  is  very  little,  and  con- 
sists principally  of  poetical  productions,  apparently  the  least  valuable  of 
all  his  works ;  since,  according  to  the  general  opinion  of  the  ancients, 
Callimachus,  notwithstanding  his  exalted  poetic  reputation,  was  not  a  man 
of  real  poetical  talent ;  but  acquired  his  great  skill  in  poetry,  through  his 
extensive  learning  and  intense  labor.  His  prose  works  on  the  contrary, 
which  would  have  furnished  us  with  much  highly  important  information 
concerning  ancient  mythology,  history,  and  literature,  are  entirely  lost. 

The  poetical  productions  of  Callimachus,  still  extant,  are  Hymns,  Epi- 
grams, and  Elegies.  Of  his  hymns,  six  in  number,  five  are  written  in 
hexameter  verse,  and  in  the  Ionic  dialect,  and  one,  on  the  bath  of  Pallas, 
in  distichs,  and  in  the  Doric  dialect.  These  hymns  bear  greater  resem- 
blance to  epic  than  to  lyric  poetry,  and  are  the  productions  of  great 
labor  and  learning,  like  most  of  the  poems  of  that  period.  They  are 
very  valuable,  however,  as  almost  every  line  furnishes  some  curious 
mythological  information,  'and  are  loaded,  to  a  greater  extent,  with 
learning,  than  any  other  poetical  productions  of  that  age.  The  epigrams 
of  Callimachus,  seventy-three  in  number,  furnish  the  best  specimens  of 
that  kind  of  poetry  extant.  The  high  estimation  they  enjoyed  in 
antiquity  is  attested  by  the  fact,  that  Archibius,  the  grammarian,  who 
lived  not  more  than  one  generation  after  the  age  of  their  author,  wrote  a 
commentary  upon  them;  and  Marianus,  in  the  reign  of  the  emperor 


295A.C.]  ^CALLIMACHUS.  189 

Anastasius,  wrote  a  paraphrase  of  them  in  Iambics.  They  were  early 
incorporated  in  the  Greek  Anthology,  and  have  been  thus  preserved. 
The  three  elegies  of  our  author  are  all  lost,  with  the  exception  of  some 
fragments ;  but  there  are  frequent  imitations  of  them  found  among  the 
Roman  poets.  Indeed,  if  we  may  believe  the  Roman  critics,  Callimachus 
was  the  greatest  elegiac  poet  that  Greece  produced ;  and  Ovid,  Propertius, 
and  Catullus  took  him  for  their  model  in  this  species  of  poetry. 

Callimachus  was  the  author  of  various  other  poetical  works  besides 
those  already  alluded  to,  among  which  were  two  epic  poems ;  but  all  of 
them  have  perished  excepting  a  few  fragments.  The  first  of  these  epics  was 
divided  into  four  books,  and  treated  of  the  causes  of  the  various  mythical 
stories,  religious  ceremonies,  and  other  prevailing  customs.  The  work  is 
often  referred  to,  and  was  paraphrased  by  Marianus ;  but  the  paraphrase 
is  entirely  lost,  and  of  the  original  we  have  only  a  few  fragments.  The 
author  took  for  its  subject  the  name  of  an  old  woman  who  had  re- 
ceived Theseus  hospitably  when  he  went  out  to  fight  against  the  Maratho- 
nian  bull.  This  work  was  likewise  paraphrased  by  Marianus,  and  we 
still  possess  some  fragments  of  the  original.  Two  other  of  his  poems, 
the  names  of  which  have  descended  to  us,  were  also  probably  epics ;  but 
of  their  character  we  have  no  definite  information.  From  all  accounts  it 
appears  that  there  was  scarcely  any  kind  of  poetry  in  which  Callimachus 
did  not  try  his  strength ;  for  he  is  said  by  Suidas  to  have  written  come- 
dies, tragedies,  Iambic  and  Choliambic  poems. 

Of  the  numerous  and  various  prose  works  of  Callimachus,  not  one  is 
extant,  though  there  were  among  them  some  of  the  highest  importance. 
The  one  of  which  the  loss  is  most  to  be  lamented,  was  a  comprehensive 
history  of  Greek  literature.  It  contained,  systematically  arranged,  lists 
of  the  different  authors  and  their  works.  The  various  departments  of 
literature  appear  to  have  been  classified,  so  that  Callimachus  spoke  of 
the  comic  and  tragic  poets,  of  the  orators,  law-givers,  philosophers,  his- 
torians, and  various  others,  in  separate  books,  in  which  the  authors  were 
enumerated  in  their  chronological  succession.  It  is  supposed  that  this 
great  work  was  a  part  of  the  fruit  of  the  author's  studies  in  the  libraries 
of  Alexandria,  and  that  it  mainly  recorded  those  authors  whose  works 
were  contained  in  those  vast  collections.  To  his  many  other  prose  works 
we  have  not  space  to  particularly  allude. 

"We  shall  close  our  remarks  on  this  distinguished  author,  with  his 
1  Hymn  on  the  Bath  of  Minerva,'  and  a  few  fine  epigrams  :# 

HYMN  ON  THE  BATH  OF  MINERVA. 

Come,  all  ye  virgins  of  the  bath !   come  forth, 
Ye  handmaids  of  Minerva!   for  I  hear 
The  neighing  of  the  sacred  steeds :   e'en  now 
The  goddess  is  at  hand.    Haste,  hasten  forth, 


190  CALLIMACHUS.  [LECT.  VIIL 

Maids  of  the  yellow  locks,  Pelasgian  maids  ! 
Ne'er  does  Minerva  lave  her  ample  limbs, 
Till  from  the  loins  of  those  her  smoking  steeds 
She  cleanse  the  dust  away ;  nor  yet  returns 
Her  weapons  all  with  dust  and  gore  defiled, 
From  slaughter  of  that  impious,  earth-born  brood, 
But  first,  at  distance,  loosens  from  the  car 
Her  courser's  necks,  and  bathes  in  ocean's  waves 
Their  dropping  sweat,  and  from  their  bitted  mouths 
Clears  the  coagulated  foam  away. 
Go  forth,  Achaean  maids  1   nor  let  your  hands — 
(I  hear  the  rattling  sound  of  ringing  wheels) — 
Let  not  your  hands  bear  ointments,  nor  the  vase 
Of  alabaster :   Pallas  takes  not  joy 
In  mingled  ointments.     Nor  the  mirror  bring, 
For  still  Minerva's  brow  is  beautiful. 
Nor  yet,  when  Paris,  on  the  mount  of  Ide, 
Sate  arbiter  of  beauty,  did  she  look 
Upon  the  polish'd  brass ;  nor  on  the  stream 
Of  Simois,  in  transparent  dimples  roll'd; 
Nor  Juno  sought  the  mirror,  nor  the  stream; 
•   "While  Venus  took  the  polish'd  brass,  and  gaz'd, 
Arranging,  o'er  and  o'er,  the  self-same  locks: 
But  Pallas,  nimbly  running  in  her  speed, 
Compass'd  a  circuit,  like  the  racing  youths, 
Twin  stars  of  Sparta,  on  Eurotab,  banks, 
Pollux  and  Castor.    Then,  with  practis'd  art, 
Her  limbs  anointed  with  the  fragrant  oil 
Of  her  own  olive-yards.    Oh  virgin !  then 
The  color  of  the  morning  flush'd  once  more 
Thy  cheeks;  the  hue,  that  blushes  on  the  rose, 
Or  tints  the  peach.    Now,  now  that  manlier  oil 
Bring  hither,  maidens  1   such  as  Castor  used, 
And  Hercules;  and  bring  a  golden  comb, 
That  she  may  draw  her  length'ning  tresses  down, 
And  smooth  her  glossy  hair.     Come  goddess  forth  1 
A  pleasing  band  awaits  thee:  virgins  sprung 
From  great  Ancestor's  tribe.    To  thee  the  shield 
Of  Diomed  is  borne  in  custom'd  rite, 
"Which  thy  loved  priest,  Eumedes,  taught  of  yore. 
He,  when  the  plotting  multitude  devised 
The  stratagems  of  death,  fled,  clasping  close 
Thy  hallow'd  image:  to  the  Crean  mount 
He  fled,  and  placed  it  on  the  steepy  rocks, 
Named  thence  Palladian.     Come,  Minerva,  forth! 
City-destroyer  !  golden-helm'd  !  who  lovest 
The  din  of  neighing  steeds,  and  clashing  shields ! 
This  day,  ye  water-bearing  damsels,  draw, 
From  fountains  only,  and  forbear  the  streams: 
This  day,  ye  hand-maids,  dip  your  urns  in  springs 
Of  Physidea,  or  the  limpid  well 
Of  Anymone:  for  from  mountains  green 


296A.C.]  CALLIMACHUS.  191 

With  pasture  shall  th'  Inachian  river  roll 

A  goodly  bath  for  Pallas  ;  mingling  gold, 

And  flowrets,  with  its  waters.     But  beware 

Pelasgian  !  lest  thy  undesigning  glance 

Surprise  the  queen  Minerva.     He  that  views 

The  naked  form  of  Pallas,  with  last  look 

Hath  seen  the  towns  of  Argos.     Come  then  forth, 

August  Minerva !    I  meantime  address 

These  thy  fair  maids,  in  legendary  lore; 

Not  from  myself;   for  others  sang  the  tale. 
Maidens  !   in  times  of  old,  Minerva  loved 

A  fair  companion  with  exceeding  love, 

The  mother  of  Tiresias  ;    nor  apart 

lived  they  a  moment.     Whether  she  her  steeds 

Drove  to  the  Thespians  old,  or  musky  groves 

Of  Coronsea,  and  Curalius'  banks, 

That  smoke  with  fragrant  altars,  or  approach'd 

To  Haliartus,  and  Bceotia's  fields; 

Still  in  the  chariot  by  her  side  she  placed 

The  nymph  Chat  iclo ;   nor  the  prattliugs  sweet, 

Nor  dances  of  the  nymphs,  to  her  were  sweet, 

Unless  Chariclo  spoke,  or  led  the  dance. 

Yet  for  the  nymph  Chariclo  was  reserved 

A  store  of  tears ;  for  her,  the  favor'd  nymph, 

The  pleasing  partner  of  Minerva's  hours. 

For  once,  on  Helicon,  they  loosed  the  clasps, 

That  held  their  flowing  robes,  and  bathed  their  limbs 
.  In  Hippocrene,  that,  beauteous,  glided  by ; 

While  noonday  stillness  wrapp'd  the  mountain  round. 

Both  laved  together ;   'twas  the  time  of  noon ; 

And  deep  the  stilly  silence  of  the  mount. 

When  with  his  .dogs  of  chase,  Tiresias  trod 

The  sacred  haunt.     The  darkening  down  just  bloom'd 

Upon  his  cheek.     With  thirst  unutterable 

Panting,  he  sought  that  fountain's  gushing  stream, 

Unhappy;  and,  involuntary,  saw 

What  mortal  eyes,  not  blameless,  may  behold. 

Minerva,  though  incensed,  thus  pit)  ing  spoke : 
'  Who  to  this  luckless  spot  conducted  thee, 

Oh  son  of  Everus !   who  sightless  hence 

Must  needs  depart  1'  she  said,  and  darkness  fell 

On  the  youth's  eyes,  astonished  where  he  stood : 

A  shooting  anguish  all  his  nerves  benumb'd, 

And  consternation  chain'd  his  murmuring  tongue. 

Then  shriek'd  the  nymph  ;   '  What,  goddess,  has  thou  done 

To  this  my  child  ?   are  these  (he  tender  acts 

Of  goddesses  ?  thou  hast  bereaved  of  eyes 

My  son.     Oh  miserable  child  I   thy  ga/,e 

Has  glanced  upon  the  bosom  and  the  shape 

Of  Pallas  ;   but  the  sun  thou  must  behold 

No  more.     Oh  miserable  me!   oh  shades 

Of  Helicon  1  oh  mountain,  that  my  steps 


192  CALLIMACHUS.  [LECT.  VIIL 

Shall  ne'er  again  ascend!   for  small  offence 
Monstrous  atonement  1  thou  art  well  repaid 
For  some  few  straggling  goats  and  hunted  deer 
With  my  son's  eyes !'   the  nymph  then  folded  close, 
With  both  her  arms,  her  son  so  dearly  loved; 
And  utter'd  .lamentation,  with  shrill  voice, 
And  plaintive,  like  the  mother  nightingale. 
The  goddess  felt  compassion  for  the  nymph, 
The  partner  of  her  soul,  and  softly  said : 
4  Retract,  divinest  woman  !   what  thy  rage, 
Erring,  has  utter'd     'Tis  not  I,  that  smite 
Thy  son  with  blindness.     Pallas  hath  no  joy 
To  rob  from  youths  the  lustre  of  their  eyes. 
The  laws  of  Saturn  this  decree.     Whoe'er 
Looks  on  the  being  of  immortal  race, 
Unless  the  willing  god  consent,  must  look, 
Thus  at  his  peril,  and  atoning  pay 
The  dreadful  penalty.    This  act  of  fate, 
Divinest  woman  1  may  not  be  recalFd. 
So  spun  the  Destinies  his  mortal  thread, 
When  thou  didst  bear  him.     Son  of  Everus ! 
Take  then  thy  portion.     But  what  hecatombs 
Shall  Aristae  us    and  Autonoe, 
Hereafter  on  the  smoking  altars  lay, 
So  that  the  youth  Actseon,  their  sad  son, 
Might  be  but  blind  like  thee?   for  know  that  youth 
Shall  join  the  great  Diana  in  the  chase ; 
Yet,  not  the  chase,  nor  darts  in  common  thrown. 
Shall  save  him;  when  his  undesigning  glance 
Discerns  the  goddess  in  her  loveliness 
Amidst  the  bath.     His  own  unconscious  dogs 
Shall  tear  their  master,  and  his  mother  cull 
His  scatter'd  bones,  wild-wandering  through  the  woods. 
That  mother,  nymph  1   shall  call  thee  blest,  who  now 
Receivest  from  the  mount  thy  sightless  son. 
Oh,  weep  no  more,  companion!   for  thy  sake 
I  yet  have  ample  recompense  in  store 
For  this  thy  son.    Behold!   I  bid  him  rise 
A  prophet:   far  o'er  every  seer  renown'd 
To  future  ages.     He  shall  read  the  flights 
Of  birds,  and  know  whatever  on  the  wing 
Hovers  auspicious,  or  ill-omen'd  flies, 
Or  void  of  auspice.     Many  oracles 
To  the  Boeotians  shall  his  tongue  reveal; 
To  Cadmus,  and  the  great  Labdacian  tribe. 
I  will  endow  him  with  a  mighty  staff, 
To  guide  his  steps  aright ;  and  I  will  give 
A  lengthen'd  boundary  to  his  mortal  life; 
And,  when  he  dies,  he  only,  midst  the  dead, 
Shall  dwell  inspir'd,  and  honor'd  by  that  king 
Who  rules  the  shadowy  people  of  the  grave.' 
She  spoke,  and  gave  the  nod ;  what  Pallas  •wills 


295  A.O.]  CALLIMACHUS.  193 

Is  sure;  in  her  of  all  his  daughters,  Jove 

Bade  all  the  glories  of  her  father  shine. 

Maids  of  the  bath  !   no  mother  brought  her  forth ; 

Sprung  from  the  head  of  Jove.     Whate'er  the  head 

Of  Jove,  inclining,  ratines,  the  same 

Stands  firm;   and  thus  his  daughter's  nod  is  fate.  • 

She  comes  !   in  very  truth,   Minerva  comes  1 
Receive  the  goddess,  damsels  1   ye,  whose  hearts, 
"With  tender  ties,  your  native  Argos  binds, 
Receive  the  goddess !   with  exulting  hails, 
With  vows,  and  shouts.     Hail,  goddess  1   oh,  protect 
Inachian  Argos  1    hail !   and,  when  thou  turn'st 
Thy  coursers  hence,  or  hitherward  again 
Guidest  thy  chariot- wheels,  oh !   still  preserve 
The  fortunes  of  the  race  from  Danaus  sprung! 


ON  HERACLITUS. 

They  told  me,  Heraclitus,  thou  wert  dead ; 
And  then  I  thought,  and  tears  thereon  did  shed, 
How  oft  we  two  talked  down  the  sun  ;   but  thou, 
Halicarnassian  guest  1   art  ashes  now. 
Yet  live  thy  nightingales  of  song ;   on  those 
All-plundering  Death  shall  ne'er  his  hand  impose. 


THE  DEATH  OF   CLEOMBROTUS. 

Cleombrotus,  upon  the  rampart's  height 

Bade  the  bright  sun  farewell;   then  plunged  to  night. 

The  cares  of  life  were  yet  to  him  unknown; 

Glad  were  his  hours,  his  sky  unclouded  shone ; 

But  Plato's  reason  caught  his  youthful  eye, 

And  fixed  his  soul  on  immortality. 


ON  A  BROTHER  AND  SISTER. 

We  buried  him  at  dawn  of  day : 
Ere  set  of  sun  his  sister  lay 

Self-slaughter'd  by  his  side. 
Poor  Basilc  I   she  could  not  bear 
Longer  to  breathe  the  vital  air, 
When  Melanippus  died. 

Thus  in  one  fatal  hour  was  left, 
Of  both  a  parent's  hopes  bereft, 

Their  desolated  sire; 
While  all  Gyrene  mourned  to  see 
The  blossoms  of  her  stateliest  tree 

By  one  fell  blight  expire. 

13 


194  APOLLOtflUS.  [LECT.  VIII. 

THE   CHASE. 

Mark,  Epicydes,  how  the  hunter  bears 

His  honors  in  the  chase — when  timid  hares 

And^  noblest  stags  he  tracks  through  frost  and  snow, 

O'er  mountains  echoing  to  the  vales  below. 

Then  if  some  clown  halloos — '  Here,  master,  here 

Lies  panting  at  your  feet  the  stricken  deer !' — 

He  takes  no  heed,  but  starts  for  newer  game : 

Such  is  my  love,  and  such  his  arrow's  aim, 

That  follows  still  with  speed  the  flying  fair, 

But  deems  the  yielding  slave  below  his  care. 

Apollonius  Rhodius,  one  of  the  pupils  of  Callimachus  at  Alexandria, 
was  the  son  of  Silleus  and  Rhode,  and  was  a  native  of  Naucratis  in 
Egypt ;  but  the  exact  period  of  his  birth  is  uncertain.  He  flourished, 
however,  during  the  reigns  of  Ptolemy  Euergetes,  who  ascended  the 
throne  247  A.C.,  and  his  two  successors  Philopator  and  Epiphanes,  the 
last  of  whom  died  181  A.C.,  when  Apollonius  was  far  advanced  in  age. 

The  ambition  of  Apollonius'  parents  early  evinced  itself  in  the  anxiety 
they  manifested  for  his  education — they  having  sent  him,  when  a  mere 
child,  to  Alexandria,  to  enjoy  the  advantages  of  Callimachus'  instruction. 
The  youth  soon  so  eminently  distinguished  himself  as  to  become  an  ob- 
ject of  deep  interest,  not  only  to  his  parents  and  instructor,  but  to  the 
entire  circle  of  his  friends ;  and  the  flattering  notice  taken  of  the  early 
efforts  of  his  muse,  so  inflated  his  young  and  ambitious  mind,  that,  before 
he  had  reached  the  age  of  maturity,  he  resolved  to  present  himself  as  a 
poetic  competitor  of  his  distinguished  master,  Callimachus.  This  circum- 
stance induces  the  inference  that  the  family  of  Apollonius  must  have 
been  of  great  eminence,  or  he  could  not  have  been  led  to  place  himself  in 
so  important,  and,  apparently,  arrogant  position. 

For  this  trial  of  skill  Apollonius  produced  The  Argonautica,  an  epic 
poem  in  four  books,  on  the  Argonautic  expedition.  The  poem,  however, 
was  evidently  written  in  haste,  and  though  many  passages  were  ex- 
tremely beautiful,  yet,  as  a  whole,  it  was  deficient  in  that  unity  of  plan, 
and  fulness  of  characteristic  development,  afterwards  imparted  to  it ;  it 
consequently  failed  of  success.  This  failure  so  mortified  the  youthful 
ambition  of  the  author,  that  he  immediately  left  Egypt,  and  retired  to 
the  island  of  Rhodes,  where  he  soon  after  opened  a  school  of  Rhetoric 
and  Polite  Literature.  Youthful  as  he  was,  his  scholastic  eminence  had 
preceded  him  to  that  island,  and  the  Rhodians  therefore  were  prepared 
to  give  him  a  welcome,  and  even  a  very  warm  reception.  Aided  by  the 
fame  of  the  school  of  Callimachus,  his  professional  success  was  so  marked 
and  so  flattering  that  he  soon  found  himself  in  such  circumstances  as 
enabled  him  to  give  the  time  and  the  attention  to  the  revision  of  '  The 
Argonautica'  which  it  required,  and  for  which  additional  years,  increased 
knowledge,  and  a  matured  judgment,  had  eminently  prepared  him.  Hav- 


285  A.C.]  APOLLONIUS.  195 

ing  completed  the  task  of  revision  and  reconstruction,  he  recited  the  poem 
in  a  public  assembly  of  the  Rhodians,  and  with  the  work  they  were  so 
much  delighted  that  they  immediately  conferred  upon  the  author  the 
freedom  of  the  city,  and  gave  him  the  appellation  of  Rhodius — -an  appel- 
lation which  he  ever  afterwards  bore. 

The  fame  which  Apollonius  Rhodius  thus  acquired  abroad  soon  ex- 
tended to  his  native  country,  and  he  was  at  once  invited  by  the  king  to 
return  thither,  and  become  one  of  the  court  poets.  Delicacy,  however,  for 
some  time,  retrained  him  from  accepting  the  invitation ;  for  Callimachus 
was  not  only  yet  living,  but  still  held  the  important  position  of  librarian 
to  the  king;  and  he  feared  the  spirit  of  rivalry  which  he  himself  had 
kindled  up  in  the  mind  of  his  former  teacher  might  militate  against  his 
advancement ;  he  therefore  declined  the  invitation.  Callimachus,  how- 
ever, soon  after  died,  and  was  succeeded  as  librarian  by  Eratosthenes ;  and 
as  the  poetic  and  literary,  reputation  of  Apollonius  had  meantime 
greatly  increased,  he  now  felt  at  liberty  to  return  to  Egypt  in  accordance 
with  the  king's  request,  and  make  Alexandria  his.  permanent  abode.  Soon 
after  his  removal  into  Egypt,  Eratosthenes  died,  and  the  place  of  Royal 
Librarian  being  thus  again  vacated,  Apollonius  was  at  once  appointed  to  fill 
the  vacancy;  and  in  that  exalted  station  he  continued  during  the  remainder 
of  his  life,  and  at  his  death  was  buried  in  the  same  tomb  with  Callimachus. 

(  The  Argonautica'  gives  a  direct  and  simple  description  of  the  expedi- 
tion of  the  Argonauts,  and  in  a  strain  that  is  equal  throughout.  The 
episodes,  which  are  not  numerous,  and  contain  particular  my thuses,  or  de- 
scriptions of  countries,  are  often  .very  beautiful,  and  give  life  and  color  to 
the  whole  poem.  The  character  of  Jason,  the  hero,  is  not  sufficiently 
developed  to  engage  the  interest  of  the  reader.  The  character  of  Medea, 
the  heroine,  on  the  other  hand,  is  beautifully  drawn,  and  the  gradual 
growth  of  her  love  for  Jason,  is  described  with  a  truly  artistic  moderation. 
Hence  much  the  finest  parts  of  the  poem  are  those  passages  which  delin- 
eate the  attachment  between  Medea  and  Jason ;  and  we  may  here  remark 
that  Virgil  was  so  sensible  of  the  beauty  and  sweetness  of  the  character 
of  Medea,  that  his  own  Dido  is  not  only  copied  from  it,  but  is,  in  reality, 
a  very  faint  imitation  of  the  original. 

As  a  work  of  art  the  Argonautica  is  strictly  an  epic  poem,  and  though 
the  style  is  not  sufficiently  elevated  for  the  subject,  yet  it  possesses  the 
second  great  characteristic  of  the  epic,  which  is  tenderness — grandeur  or 
sublimity  being  the  first.  The  language  is  an  imitation,  of  that  of  Homer, 
but  is  'more  brief  and  concise,  and  has  all  the  symptoms  of  something 
which  is  studied  and  not  natural  to  the  poet.  The  Argonautica,  in  real- 
ity, is  a  work  of  art  and  labor,  and  thus  forms,  notwithstanding  its  many 
resemblances,  a  striking  contrast  with  the  natural  and  easy  flow  of  the 
Homeric  poems.  On  its  first  publication  the  Argonautica.  was  extremely 


196  APOLLONITTS.  *        [LECT.  VIII. 

popular  amongst  the  Greeks,  and  was  afterwards  much  read  by  the  Ro- 
mans. Though  the  entire  poem  is  still  extant,  we  have  only  space  for 
the  following  brief  extracts : 


SAILING   OF    THE  ARGO. 

Now,  when  the  morning,  with  her  shining  eyes, 

Look'd  forth  on  Pelion's  lofty  crags,  and  far 

The  verge  serene  of  Ocean,  rippling,  dash'd 

With  sound  of  breaking  waves,  as  the  fresh  wind 

Ruffled  the  sea ;   then  Tiphys  waked  and  roused 

His  friends,  to  climb  the  deck,  and  set  their  oars: 

Then  with  the  wild  din  the  Pagasaean  bay 

Re-echoed;   and  instructive  sounds  arose 

From  Pelian  Argo,  hastening  to  depart : 

For  Pallas,  from  Dodona's  vocal  oaks, 

Had  in  the  keel  infix'd  a  sacred  beam. 

They  climb'd  the  benches  in  their  order'd  ranks : 

Each  rower's  seat  disposed  by  lot,  and  sate 

In  fair  array,  their  weapons  ranged  beside; 

Ancaeus  in  the  midst;  and  in  his  strength, 

Huge  Hercules ;  his  club  beside  him  lean'd  : 

Beneath  his  feet  sank  down  the  -hollow  keel. 

Then  were  the  oars  outstretch'd,  and  the  sweet  wine 

Was  pour'd  upon  the  surface  of  the  sea; 

And  Jason  turn'd  his  eyes,  that  swam  with  tears, 

From  his  dear  country's  shores.    As  youths,  that  form 

The  dances  of  Apollo,  midst  the  groves 

Of  Delphos,  or  in  Delos'  isle,  or  near 

Ismenus'  wave,  and  to  the  chiming  harp 

With  rapid  feet,  elastic,  strike  the  ground 

Circling  his  altar ;   so  to  Orpheus'  lyre 

They  smote  the  turbid  billows  of  the  sea 

With  cadenced  oars.     The  ruffling  surges  dash'd ; 

The  dark  brine  leap'd  in  foam  from  side  to  side ; 

Deep  murmuring  to  the  strong  impetuous  strokes 

From  men  of  might.     As  on  the  galley  row'd, 

Their  armor  glitter'd  in  the  sun  like  fire: 

The  waves'  long  track  froth'd  whitening,  and  a  path 

Of  foam  appear'd  through  the  green  watery  plain: 

And  on  that  day  lean'd  all  the  gods  from  heaven 

To  look  upon  the  ship,  and  see  the  strength 

Of  demi-gods,  who  there  with  valor  high 

Travell'd  the  deep ;   and  from  high  Peliou's  tops 

The  nymphs  gazed  wondering  down  ;  and  saw  the  world 

Of  Pallas,  and  th'  heroic  chiefs  themselves 

Firm  brandishing  their  oars  with  grasping  hands. 

Chiron  himself  from  the  high  mountain's  head 

Came  down  beside  the  sea,  and  dipp'd  his  feet 

In  the  shore's  billowy  foam:  with  many  a  sign 


1285  A.C.]  APOLLONIUS.  197 

Waving  his  ponderous  hand,  and  bidding  them, 

With  acclamation,  happily  return. 

His  spouse  beside  him  stood ;  and  in  her  arms 

Dandled  the  babe  of  Peleus :   showing  him 

To  his  dear  father.     They,  now,  left  behind 

The  shore-encircled  bay,  by  Tiphys'  skill 

And  prudence ;  who  with  art  still  held  his  hand 

On  the  smooth  rudder,  guiding  it  secure. 

Then  in  the  socket  the  rear'd  mast  they  fix'd; 

And  stretch'd  the  cordage,  bound  from  side  to 

Then  spread  the  sails,  and  to  the  topmast  strai 

The  wiud  fell  whistling  in  their  folds.     Then 

Upon  the  decks  they  braced  the  tighten'd  rop 

To  cramps  of  wood ;  and,  calmly  gliding,  pass'd 

Beyond  Tisaeum's  promontory  crag, 

Long  stretching  into  ocean.     Then  with  voice 

And  harp,  ^Eager's  son  tuned  smooth  the  lay 

To  high-born  Dian,  guardian  of  the  ship, 

Who  rules  the  mountain  beacons  of  the  sea, 

Protector  of  lolchos.     From  the  deep 

The  fishes  upward  sprang ;   the  small  and  vast 

Of  all  the  scaly  tribe  leap'd  from  beneath 

In  bounds,  and  folio w'd  through  the  liquid  track. 

As  when  th'  innumerable  sheep,  now  full 

Of  pasture,  follow  in  their  leader's  steps 

Back  to  the  sheep-fold :   he  before  them  walks, 

Tuning  on  shrilling  pipe  a  rustic  lay ; 

So  follow'd  they,  while  fresher  blew  the  gale. 


PASSION  OF  MEDEA.   . 

Amidst  them  all,  the  sun  of  JEson,  chief, 

Shone  forth  divinely  in  his  comeliness, 

And  graces  of  his  form.     On  him  the  maid 

Held  still  her  eyes  askance,  and  gazed  him  o'er 

Through  her  transparent-glistening  veil;  while  grief 

Consum'd  her  heart,  her  mind,  as  in  a  dream, 

Slid  stealthily  away,  and  hovering  hung 

On  his  departing  footsteps.     Sorrowing  they 

Went  from  the  palace  forth.     Chalciope, 

Dreading  JEetes'  anger,  hastening  pass'd 

Within  her  secret  chamber,  with  her  sons : 

And  thus  Medea  went,  her  soul  absorb'd 

In  many  musings,  such  as  love  incites 

Thoughts  of  deep  care.    Now  all  remember'd  things 

In  apparition  rose  before  her  eyes : 

What  was  his  aspect ;  what  the  robe  he  wore ; 

What  words  he  utter'd ;  in  what  posture  placed 

He  on  the  couch  reclined ;   and  with  what  air 

He  from  the  porch  pass'd  forth.    Then  red  the  blush 

Burn'd  on  her  cheek ;   while  in  her  soul  she  thought 

No  other  man  existed  like  to  him : 


198  APOLLONIUS.  [LKCT.  VIII. 

.     His  voice  was  murmuring  in  her  ears,  and  all 
The  charming  words  he  utter'd.     Now,  disturb'd, 
She  trembled  for  his  life;  -lest  the  fierce  bulls, 
Or  lest  ^Eetes  should,  himself,  destroy 
The  man  she  loved :   and  she  bewailed  him  now 
As  if  already  dead ;  and  down  her  cheeks, 
In  deep  commiseration,  the  soft  tear 
Flow'd  anxiously.     With  piercing  tone  of  grief 
Her  voice  found  utterance :   '  Why,  unhappy  one ! 
Am  I  thus  wretched  ?   what  concerns  it  me, 
Whether  this  paragon  of  heroes  die 
The  death,  or  flee  discomfited  ?     And  yet 
He  should  unharm'd  depart.     Dread  Hecate! 
Be  it  thy  pleasure  !   let  him  homeward  pass, 
And  'scape  his  threaten'd  fate :   or,  if  his  fate 
Beneath  the  bulls  have  destined  him  to  fall, 
First  let  him  know,  that  in  his  wretched  end 
Medea  does  not  glory !'     So,  disturb'd, 
Mused  the  sad  virgin  in  her  anguish'd  thoughts. 


DELIBERATION  OF  MEDEA 

ON   HER   PROMISE    TO    JASON. 

Night  then  brought  darkness  o'er  the  earth:  at  sea 

The  mariners  their  eyes  from  shipboard  raised. 

Fix'd  on  the  star  Orion,  and  the  Bear. 

The  traveller  and  'the  keeper  of  the  gate 

Rock'd  with  desire  of  sleep  ;   and  slumber  now 

Fell  heavy  on  some  mother,  who  had  wept 

Her  children  in  the  grave.     No  bay  of  dogs, 

No  noise  of  tumult,  stirr'd  the  city  streets  ; 

All  hush'd  in  stillest  darkness.     But  sweet  sleep 

Sooth'd  not  Medea.      Many  a  busy  thought, 

For  love  of  Jason,  strain'd  her  wakeful  eyes. 

She  fear'd  the  bulls,  by  whose  o'er-mastering  strength 

He,  on  the  battle-field,  must  haply  meet 

Dishonorable  death.     With  feverous  throbs 

The  heart  within  her  bosom  restless  heaved. 

As  when  the  glitter  of  the  sun,  that  springs 

From  water,  in  some  cauldron  freshly  pour'd, 

Or  milk-pail,   brandish'd  quivers  on  the  walls, 

Darts  in  quick  rings,  and  vibrates  round  and  round ; 

So  was  the  Virgin's  heart,  within  her  breast, 

Turn'd  to  and  fro.     The  tear,  compassionate, 

Stole  trickling  from  her  eyes,  and  inward  grief 

Prey'd  with  slow  wasting  on  her  pining  frame : 

Such  weight  of  suffering  did  her  sleepless  love 

Lay  on  her  bosom.    Now  her  will  resolves 

To  gift  the  chief  with  drugs  of  charming  power : 

Now  she  abjures  the  thought;  and  she  will  die 


185A.C.1  APOLLONIUS.  199 

Together  with  the  man  she  loves.     Anon 

Her  resolutions  change;  nor  will  she  die 

With  him  she  loves,  nor  yield  the  charming  drugs ; 

But  calm,  with  unresisting  apathy, 

Bear  with  his  fate.     Then  sitting,  while  her  thoughts, 

Waver'd  in  musing  doubts,  aloud  she  spake: 

'  Still  am  I  wretched  with  the  choice  of  ills ! 

My  mind  is  impotent  of  thought :   no  cure 

For  this,  the  torment  irresistible 

That  evermore  consumes  me.     Would  to  Heaven 

That  I  had  fallen  by  Dian's  nimble  darts, 

Ere  I  had  seen  him!     Ere  my  sister's  sons 

Had  gone  for  Greece,  whence  some  unfriendly  god, 

Or  Fury  brings  these  lamentable  woes. 

Then  let  him  fight,  and  perish,  if  his  fate 

Decree  that  he  shall  die  upon  the  field. 

How  should  I  shun  my  parents'  eyes,  and  mix 

The  needful  drugs  ?     What  speech  can  serve  my  turn  ? 

What  fraud  shall  aid  me,  or  what  secret  wile? 

Shall  I  apart  from  his  companions,  see 

The  chief  alone,  and  interchange  kind  words  ? 

Wretch  that  I  am!   for  if,  indeed,  he  die, 

How  could  I  hope  a  respite  from  my  woes? 

Then  were  my  sum  of  misery  full,  if  he 

Were  reft  of  life.    Away  with  modesty! 

Away  with  decent  forms !    and  let  him  go, 

Saved  by  my  counsels,  whereso'er  he  list. 

And  then,  on  that  .same  day  when  he  achieves 

The  combat,  let  me  die :  to  yon  high  beam, 

Let  me,  suspended  by  the  throat,  expire ; 

Or  drain  the  juices,  that  destroy  the  souL 

Yet  men  will  cast  reproaches,  after  life, 

Upon  my  breathless  body;  and,  from  far, 

Shall  the  whole  city  cry  aloud,  and  rail, 

Upon  my  death ;  and  here  and  there  will  throng 

The  Colchian  women,  and  pursue  with  taunts 

My  memory.'     This  maiden's  heart  was  wrapt 

So  deeply  in  a  stranger,  that  for  him 

She  died ;  and  stain'd  her  parents,  and  her  house, 

To  lovesick  frenzy  yielding  up  herself, 

What  shame  will  not  be  mine  ?   oh,  misery  1  ^ 

Were  it  not  better  now,  this  very  night, 

Here  in  my  chamber,  to  forsake  my  life? 

So,  by  a  sudden  death,  to 'scape  at  once 

All  this  reproach ;  before  my  deeds  have  wrought 

This  full  disgrace,  unworthy  of  a  name  ?' 

She  said,  and  to  her  casket  went,  full-stored 
With  drugs:   some  healthful,  some  of  deadly  bane. 
•  She  placed  it  on  her  knees,  and  wept;  the  tears 

Unceasing  bathed  her  bosom;  flowing  forth, 
Spite  of  herself,  abundantly,  for  grief 
Of  her  hard  fate.    And  now  the  impulse  rose, 


200  APOLLONIUS.  [LEOT.  VIII. 

To  cull  and  taste  the  drugs  that  poison  life. 

She  loosed  the  casket's  fastenings ;   with  ill  hap 

Gathering  the  mortal  herbs,  when,  suddenly, 

Came  o'er  her  mind  a  horror  of  the  grave. 

Long  time  she  mused  in  doubt:   life's  pleasing  cares, 

In  smiling  vision,  flitted  on  her  sight : 

She  thought  upon  the  pleasures  that  are  found 

Among  the  living;   she  remember'd  her 

Of  the  gay  playmates  of  her  virgin  hours : 

The  sun  more  pleasant  in  her  fancy  shone 

Than  ere  his  light  had  been;   and,  more  and  more, 

Her  fondness  grew  for 'each  remember'd  thing. 

She  then  replaced  the  casket  from  her  knees. 

For  Juno  turn'd  her  heart ;  and,  straight,  she  long'd 

For  morniug  to  appear,  that  she  might  give 

The  promised  drugs  of  saving  power,  and  greet 

The  face  of  Jason.     Oft  she  drew  the  bolts 

That  closed  her  chamber  door,  and  with  long  look 

Watch'd  for  the  light.     Then  morning  on  her  gaze 

Darted  its  lovely  splendor,  and  the  throng 

Appear'd  in  motion  through  the  city  streets. 

But,  when  the  virgin  saw  the  morning  light 
Gay — glittering  round,  she  with  her  hands  bound  up 
The  tresses  of  her  yellow  hair,  that  flow'd 
Loose  in  disorder  down :  she  ting'd  her  cheeks, 
Which  tears  had  sullied,  with  cosmetic  red; 
O'er  her  smooth  body  shed  a  shining  oil, 
That  breathed  nectarian  odor,  and  enrobed 
Her  form  in  elegant  cymar,  whose  folds 
Were  gather'd  at  the  waist  with  pliant  clasps; 
And  a  tiara,  silver-tissued,  placed 
Upon  her  fragrant  head:   so  walking  forth 
She  passed  the  palace,  with  elastic  step 
Treading  the  floor :  of  present  ills  alike 
Forgetful,  and  of  greater  yet  behind. 


MEDEA   AND   JASON 

IN   THE    TEMPLE   OF   HECATE. 

No  other  theme  employ'd  Medea's    mind, 

Though  singing;  nor  could  all  her  sportive  maids, 

Whatever  carol  they  alternate  sang, 

Long  please  her :  she,  still  absent,  in  the  song 

Broke  off  abrupt.    Nor  on  the  damsels  round 

Look'd  she  with  stedfast  eyes ;  but  turn'd  them  still 

To  the  far  paths,  and  ever  lean'd  her  cheek, 

Inclining  forward;   and  a  shock  was  felt 

Quick  at  her  heart,  if  e'er  she  list'ning  caught 

A  footfall's  echo,  or  the  passing  wind. 

But  soon  he  came;   and,  to  the  longing  maid 
Appear'd,  high  bounding;   as  the  Syrian  star, 


285  A.C.]  APOLLONIUS.    •  201 

Emerged  from  ocean,  rises,  beautiful 

And  glorious  to  behold ;   yet  to  the  flocks 

Sends  forth  wide-wasting  plagues.     Thus  Jason  came: 

Thus  beautiful  in  aspect;   but  his  sight 

Raised  agonized  emotion,  and  her  heart 

Sank ;  her  eyes  darken'd ;  and  the  reddening  blood 

Rush'd  to  her  cheek;  nor  could  her  faltering  knees 

Advance,  nor  yet  recede ;   and,  under  her, 

Her  feet  seem'd  rooted  to  the  earth.     Anon 

The  damsels  left  them,  and  retired  apart. 

Thus,,  opposite  each  other,  mute  they  stood: 
As  oaks,  or  fir-trees  tall,  nigh-growing,  lift, 
Upon  the  mountains,  their  firm-rooted  stems 
In  quietness,  when  not  a  breath  of  air 
Is  stirring  in  the  Jeaves;   anon,  with  gusts 
Of  rushing  wind  are  shaken  to  and  fro 
With  deep  tumultuous  murmur;   so  the  breath 
Of  love  would  stir  within  them,  and  their  tongues 
Flow  with  no  stinted  utterance.    Jason  felt 
The  virgin  tremble  with  her  heaven-sent  grief, 
And,  soft -in  blandishment,  address'd  her  thus: 

'Why  dost  thou  fear  me,  maiden,  thus  alone? 
For  I  am  not  like  men,  who  boast  themselves 
Vain-gloriously,  npr  was  I  ever  such, 
When  dwelling  in  the  land  that  gave  me  birth. 
Then  fear  me  not  too  greatly,  gentle  maid  1 
But  now  interrogate,  or  speak  thyself 
Whate'er  thou  list;,  and,  since  we  meet  with  minds 
Of  friendly  greeting,  in  this  hallow'd  place, 
Where  guile  were  sacrilege,  now  openly 
Speak  thou,  or  question  me.     Not  with  smooth  words 
Beguile  me;   since  thy  promise,  from  the  first, 
Is  through  thy  sister  pledged,  that  thou  wilt  give 
The  welcome  drugs.     By  Hecate  herself! 
By  thy  own  parents !   by  all-seeing  Jove ! 
Who  o'er  the  stranger  and  the  suppliant  still 
Spreads  his  protecting  hand,  I  thee  conjure! 
For  I  a  stranger  and  a  suppliant  come 
Into  thy  presence  :   in  severest  strait 
I  bend  and  clasp  thy  knees ;   for,  without  thee, 
I  cannot  hope  to  quell  with  mastering  strength  * 

This  bitter  conflict.     For  thy  aid  my  thanks 
Hereafter  shall  be  thine :   such  thanks  as  men, 
Who  dwell  remote  can  give.     I  will  exalt 
Thy  name  and  graceful  honor ;   and  the  rest 
Of  heroes  with  me  shall  extol  thy  praise, 
When  they  to  Greece  return :    the  mothers  too, 
And  wives  of  heroes,  who  now  musing  sit 
Upon  the  ocean  shore,  and  wail  our  loss. 
Disperse  their  heavy  sorrows,  for  thou  canst 
Thus  the  Minoian  virgin,  she  who  call'd 
Pasiphae  mother,  daughter  of  the  sun ;  . 


202  APOLLONIUS.  [LKCT.  VIII. 

Wise  Ariadne,  from  his  mortal  toil 

Deliver'd  Theseus.    She  indeed,  the  wrath 

Of  Minos  sooth'd,  in  Theseus'  galley  sate, 

And  left  her  country;  and  the  gods  themselves 

Loved  her ;  and  still  her  sign  is  seen  in  Heaven ; 

And,  'midst  the  glittering  symbols  of  the  sky, 

The  starry  crown  of  Ariadne  glides. 

Such  gracious  power  from  the  deities 

Will  sure  be  thine,  if  thou  wilt  save  th^  lives 

Of  this,  our  band  of  heroes ;  and  in  sooth 

Thy  form  bespeaks  thee  graced  with  manners  mild.' 

So  said  the  youth,  with  admiration  high 
Gilding  his  speech;   but  she,  her  eyes  cast  down, 
Smiled  with  enchanting  sweetness:   all  her  soul 
Melted  within  her,  of  his  words  of  jjraise 
Enamor'd.     Then  she  fix'd  full  opposite 
Her  eyes  upon  him,  at  a  loss  what  word 
She  first  should  speak,  yet  wishing  in*  a  breath 
To  utter  all  her  fond  impetuous  thoughts. 
And  with  spontaneous  act,  she  took  the  drug 
From  forth  her  fragrant  girdle's  folds,  and  he 
Received  it  at  her  hands,  elate  with  joy : 
And  she  had  drawn  the  spirit  from  her  breast, 
Had  he  but  asked  it;   sighing  out  her  soul 
Into  his  bosom.     So  from  Jason's  head, 
Waving  with  yellow  locks,  Jove  lighten'd  forth 
A  lambent  flame,  and  snatch'd  the  darted  rays 
That  trembled  from  his  eyes.    Her  inmost  soul 
Floating  in  bliss,  she  all  dissolved  away; 
As  dew  on  roses  in  the  morning's  beams 
Evaporating  melts.    So  stood  they  both; 
And  bent,  in  bashfulness,  their  eyes  on  earth, 
Then  glanced  them  on  each  other ;  while  their  brows 
Smiled  joyous,  in  serenity  of  love. 

At  length  the  virgin,  half-inaudible, 
Addressed  him  thus :    '  Learn  now  my  purpos'd  means 
To  aid  thee.     When  thou  comest,  and  my  sire 
Gives  thee  to  sow  the  serpent's  mortal  teeth, 
Watch  when  the  midnight  parts  the  sky;  and  bathe 
In  the  perennial  river's  flowing  stream. 
Then  wrapt  in  sable  garments,  dig  a  trench 
In  hollow  circle:   slay  a  lamb  therein, 
And  fresh  and  undivided,  lay  the  lamb  <• 
Upon  the  altar,  when  thy  hand  has  heap'd 
Within  the  circling  trench  the  fueH'd  fire, 
Then  soothe  with  prayers  the  one  dread  Hecate : 
And  from  a  goblet  in  libation  shed 
The  honey  of  the  hive.    The  Goddess  thus 
Duly  appeas'd,  recede,  and  quit  the  pile ; 
Nor  let  the  tramp  of  footsteps  make  thee  turn, 
Nor  yell  of  dogs,  lest  all  should  be  undone; 
Nor  thou  from  this  comprize,  as  meet  it  is, 


285A.C.]  LEON  ID  AS.  203 

Greet  thy  companions.      Liquefy  this  drug, 

By  glimmer  of  the  dawn,  and,  naked,  spread 

The  slippery  ointment  o'er  thy  shining  limbs. 

A  mighty  force  shall  instantly  pervade 

Thy  body,  and  immensity  of  strength; 

And  thou  wouldst  say,  thou  wert  a  match  in  fight, 

Not  for  men  only,  but  immortal  Gods : 

And  let  thy  spear,  thy  buckler,  and  thy  sword 

Be  thus  anointed.     Not  the  lances,  then, 

Of  earth-born  hosts  can  wound  thee ;  nor  the  flame, 

Resistless  darted,  of  the  deadly  bulls. 

Not  thus  invulnerable  in  thy  strength 

Wilt  thou  remain,  but  only  on  that  day. 

Go  boldly  to  the  combat :    draw  not  back, 

For  I  have  other  aid.     When  thou  has  yoked 

The  sturdy  bulls,  and  plough'd  with  hands  of  strength 

The  furrow'd  fallow,  and  the  giants  rise, 

Sprung  from  the  serpent's  teeth,  which  thou  hast  thrown 

Midst  the  dark  glebe;   when  thou  shalt  mark  them  rise 

Thick  o'er  the  field,  then  cast,  with  wily  throw, 

A  heavy  stone.    They  for  the  prize,  like  dogs 

That  ravening  fight  for  food,  shall  turn  and  slay 

Each  other.    Thou  thyself  impetuous  rush, 

And  charge  amidst  the  battle.     So  shalt  thou 

Bear  from  JE eta's  isle  the  fleece  away 

To  distant  Greece ;  and  thou  shalt  hence  depart 

When'er  it  please  thee ;  should  it  please  thee  hence 

So  to  depart.  She  said ;  and  silently 

Low  tow'rds  her  feet  bent  sad  her  sorrowing  eyes, 

And  bathed  her  cheek  with  scalding  tears,  and  mourn'd, 

That  she  should  wander  on  the  seas,  far  off, 

Away  from  him.     Then,  careless  of  reserve, 

Again,  with  plaintive  speech,  addressing  him, 

She  caught  him  with  her  hand:   for  now  her  eyes 

Had  lost  their  bashful  shame  :     '  Remember  yet, 

If  to  thy  home  thou  ever  shouldst  return, 

Medea's  name.     When  thou  art  far  away, 

I  shall  remember  thee.'          •     •    * 

Leonidas,  of  Tarentum,  Cleanthes,  of  Vassus,  and  Rhianus,  of  .Bena, 
contemporaries  of  Apollonius  Rhodius,  were  all  as  remarkable  for  pecu- 
liar circumstances  in  their  lives,  as  they  were  for  their  genius. 

Leonidas  was  a  native  of  Tarentum,  a  Greek  settlement  in  the  south- 
ern part  of  Italy,  and  was  an  epigrammatic  writer  of  very  considerable 
celebrity.  We  know  little  of  the  history  of  his  life,  however,  farther 
than  that  he  lived  during  the  reign  of  Pyrrhus,  king  of  Epirus,  who  was 
killed  in  battle  272  A.C.  From  one  of  the  epigrams  of  Leonidas,  written 
for  his  own  epitaph,  we  learn  the  name  of  his  birth-place,  and  also  that 
after  many  wanderings,  during  which  the  Muses  were  his  chief  solace, 
he  died,  and  was  buried  at  a  distance  from  his  native  land. 


204  LEON  ID  AS.  [LECT.  VIII. 

The  epigrams  of  Leonidas  were  very  numerous,  and  were  chiefly 
inscriptions  for  dedicatory  offerings  and  works  of  art ;  and  though  not 
of  a  very  high  order  of  poetry,  they  are  usually  pleasing,  ingenious,  ele 
vated  in  moral  tone,  and  in  good  taste. '  Bernhardy  not  unhappily  char- 
acterizes them  as  being  ( in  a  sharp,  lapidary  style.'  Of  these  epigrams 
the  following  are  the  most  pleasing  : 


HOME. 

Cling  to  thy  home  !   if  there  the  meanest  shed 
Yield  thee  a  hearth,  and  shelter  for  thy  head, 
And  some  poor  plot,  with  vegetables  stor'd, 
Be  all  that  heaven  allots  thee  for  thy  board — 
Unsavory  bread,  and  herbs  that  scattered  grow 
Wild  on  the  river-brink  or  mountain  brow, 
Yet  e'en  this  cheerless  mansion  shall  provide 
More  heart's  repose  than  all  the  world  beside. 


THE  RETURN  OF  SPRING  TO   SAILORS. 

Haste  to  the  port  I  the  twittering  swallow  calls, 
Again  returned ;  the  wintry  breezes  sleep ; 

The  meadows  laugh ;  and  warm  the  zephyr  falls 
On  ocean's  breast  and  calms  the  fearful  deep. 

Now  spring  your  cables,  loiterers;  spread  your  sails; 

O'er  the  smooth  surface  of  the  waters  roam ! 
So  shall  your  vessel  glide  with  friendly  gales, 

And  fraught  with  foreign  treasure,  waft  you  home. 


A  MOTHER  ON  HER  SON. 

Unhappy  child !   unhappy  I,  who  shed 
A  mother's  sorrows  o'er  thy  funeral  bed  1 
Thou  'rt  gone  in  youth,  Amyntas ;   I,  in  age, 
Must  wander  through  a  lonely  pilgrimage, 
And  sigh  for  regions  of  .unchanging  night, 
And  sicken  at  the  day's  repeated  light. 
Oh,  guide  me  hence,  sweet  spirit,  tb  that  bourne, 
Where,  in  thy  presence,  I  shall  cease  to  mourn. 


INSCRIPTION  ON  A  BOAT. 

They  say  that  I  am  small  and  frail, 
And  cannot  live  in  stormy  seas: — 

It  may  be  so  ;   yet  every  sail 

Makes  shipwreck  in  the  swelling  breeze : 


285A.C.]  LEONID  AS.  205 

Nor  strength  nor  size  can  then  hold  fast, 

But  fortune's  favor,  heaven's  decree  :— 
Let  others  trust  in  oar  and  mast, 

But  may  the  gods  take  care  of  me ! 


ON   A    STATUE   OF    ANACREON. 

Come  see  your  old  Anacreon, 

How,  seated  on  his  couch  of  stone 

With  silvery  temples  garlanded, 

He  quaffs  the  rich  wine,  rosy -red ; 

How,  with  flush'd  cheek  and  swimming  eye, 

In  drunken  fashion,  from  his  thigh 

He  lets  his  robe  unheeded  steal, 

And  drop  and  dangle  o'er  his  heel. 

One  sandal's  off;  one  scarce  can  hide 

The  lean  and  shrivell'd  foot  inside. 

Old  Anacreon — hark  !   he  sings 

Still  of  love  to  th'  old  harp-strings  1 

Still,  Bathylla— still,  Megiste,— 

How  he  coax'd  ye,  how  he  kiss'd  ye ! 

Gentle  Bacchus,  watch  and  wait, 

You  must  watch  and  hold  him  straight ; 

Hold  him  up;  for,  if  he  fall, 

You  lose  your  boldest  bacchanal. 


ON    HOMER. 

Dim  grows  the  planets,  when  the  god  of  Day 
Rolls  his  swift  chariot  through  the  heavenly  way; 
The  moon's  immortal  round,  no  longer  bright. 
Shrinks  in  pale  terror  from  the  glorious  light : — 
Thus,  all  eclipsed  by  Homer's  wondrous  blaze, 
The  crowd  of  poets  hide  their  lessened  rays. 


ON  HIMSELF. 

Far  from  Tarentum's  native  soil  I  lie, 

Far  from  the  dear  land  of  my  infancy. 

Tis  dreadful  to  resign  this  mortal  breath, 

But  in  a  stranger  clime  'tis  worse  than  death. 

Call  it  not  life  to  pass  a  fevered  age 

In  ceaseless  wanderings  o'er  the  world's  wide  stag* 

But  me  the  Muse  has  ever  loved,  and  given 

Sweet  joys  to  counterpoise  the  curse  of  heaven ; 

Nor  lets  my  memory  decay,  but  long 

To  distant  time  preserves  my  deathless  song. 


206  CLEANTHES.  [LECT.  VIII. 

Cleanthes  was  the  son  of  Phanias,  and  was  born  at  Assos  in  Troas, 
about  290  A. C.,  though  the  exact  date  is  unknown.  He  was  of  low  and 
comparatively  obscure  origin,  and  commenced  life  by  being  a  wrestler 
and  boxer  in  a  public  circus ;  but  conceiving  an  ardent  desire  for  philo- 
sophical knowledge,  he  resolved  to  leave  his  native  place  and  repair  to 
Athens,  where  the  information  he  sought  after  might  be  more  readily 
obtained  than  at  Assos.  His  circumstances  when  he  arrived  in  Athens, 
were  so  low  that  he  was  obliged  to  resort  to  manual  labor  to  obtain  his 
daily  subsistence,  and  meet  the  expenses  of  his  instruction.  The  employ- 
ment to  which  he  resorted  was  that  of  drawing  water  during  the  night  from 
the  public  wells  of  the  city ;  but  as  this  gave  him  no  visible  means  of  sup- 
port, he  was  summoned  before  the  Areopagus  to  account  for  his  way  of 
living.  The  secret  of  his  employment  was  thus  divulged;  and  the 
judges  of  the  court  were  so  delighted  by  the  evidence  of  industry  which 
he  produced,  that  they  voted  him  ten  minae. 

Cleanthes  at  first  placed  himself  under  the  instruction  of  Crates,  but 
soon  after  removed  to  the  school  of  Zeno,  whose  faithful  disciple  he  con- 
tinued for  many  years.  Being  naturally  dull  of  apprehension,  he  was 
considered  by  his  fellow-pupils  stupid,  and  received  from  them  the  title 
of  the  Ass,  in  which  appellation  he  is  said  to  have  rejoiced,  as  it  implied 
that  his  back  was  strong  enough  to  bear  whatever  Zeno  put  upon  it. 
Several  other  anecdotes  preserved  of  him  show  that  he  was  one  of  those 
enthusiastic  votaries  of  philosophy  who  naturally  appeared  from*  time  to 
time  in  an  age  when  there  was  no  deep  and  earnest  religion  to  satisfy  the 
thinking  part  of  mankind.  He  declared  that  for  the  sake  of  philosophy 
he  would  dig  and  undergo  all  possible  labor  ;  he  took  notes  of  Zeno's 
lectures  on  bones  and  pieces  of  earthen-ware  when  he  was  too  poor  to 
buy  parchment ;  and  with  quaint  penitence  he  reviled  himself  for  his 
small  progress  in  philosophy,  by  calling  himself  an  old  man  '  possessed  of 


gray 


hairs,  but  not  of  a  mind.' 


For  his  vigor  and  zeal  in  the  pursuit  of  philosophy,  Cleanthes  was 
styled  a  second  Hercules;  and  when  Zeno  died,  263  A.C.,  he  succeeded 
him  in  his  school,  and  continued  to  fill  that  important  position  till  his 
death,  which  occurred  in  the  eightieth  year  of  his  age,  and  the  particulars 
attending  which  are  characteristic.  His  physician  recommended  to  him 
a  two  days'  abstinence  from  food  to  cure  an  ulcer  in  his  mouth ;  and  at 
the  end  of  the  second  day,  he  said  that,  as  he  had  now  advanced  so  far 
in  the  road  to  death,  it  would  be  a  pity  to  have  the  trouble  over  again ; 
and  he  therefore  still  refused  all  nourishment,  and  died  of  starvation. 

The  philosophical  doctrines  of  Cleanthes  were  those  of  the  .stoical 
sect;  and  the  names  of  his  numerous  treatises,  as  preserved  byLaertius, 
present  the  usual  catalogue  of  moral  and  philosophical  subjects.  Of  his 
poems,  the  only  one  that  has  escaped  the  ravages  of  time  is  his  Hymn 
to  Jupiter.  Of  this  poem,  which  contains  some  striking  sentiments, 


290  A.C.]  CLEANTHES.  207 

"West,  the  distinguished  English  critic,  remarks :  ( It  is  extraordinary  to 
find  sentiments  so  correct  in  a  heathen,  and  poetry  so  pure  and  elevated 
in  a  philosopher.'  Of  this  poem  the  following  version  is  as  faithful  to 
ike  original  as  it  can,  perhaps,  be  rendered  in  our  language  : 

HYMN  TO  JUPITER 

Most  glorious  of  th'  immortal  powers  above  1 
Oh  thou  of  many  names !   mysterious  Jove  1 
For  evermore  Almighty !     Nature's  source  ! 
That  govern'st  all  things  in  their  order'd  course! 
All  hail  to  thee !   since,  innocent  of  blame, 
E'en  mortal  creatures  may  address  thy  name ; 
For  all  that  breathe,  and  creep  the  lowly  earth, 
Echo  thy  being  with  reflected  birth; 
Thee  will  I  sing,  thy  strength  for  aye  resound: 
The  universe,  that  rolls  this  globe  around, 
Moves  wheresoe'er  thy  plastic  influence  guides, 
And,  ductile,  owns  the  god  whose  arm  presides. 
The  lightnings  are  thy  ministers  of  ire, 
The  double-forked,  and  ever-living  fire; 
In  thy  unconquerable  hand  they  glow, 
And  at  the  flash  all  nature  quakes  below. 
Thus,  thunder-arm'd,  thou  dost  creation  draw 
To  one  immense,  inevitable  law: 
And  with  the  various  mass  of  breathing  souls 
Thy  power  is  mingled,  and  thy  spirit  rolls. 
Dread  genius  of  creation!   all  things  bow 
To  thee ;  the  universal  monarch  thou ! 
Nor  aught  is  done  without  thy  wise  control, 
On  earth,  or  sea,  or  round  th'  ethereal  pole, 
Save  when  the  wicked,  in  their  frenzy  blind, 
Act  o'er  the  follies  of  a  senseless  mind. 
Thou  curb'st  th'  excess;  confusion  to  thy  sight 
Moves  regular ;   th'  unlovely  scene  is  bright. 
Thy  hand,  educing  good  from  evil,  brings 
To  one  apt  harmony,  the  strife  of  things. 
One  ever-during  law  still  binds  the  whole,  • 

Though  shunn'd,  resisted,  by  the  sinner's  soul. 
Wretches !   while  still  they  course  the  glittering  prizt 
The  law  of  god  eludes  their  ears  and  eyes. 
Life  then  were  virtue,  did  they  this  obey ; 
But  wide  from  life's  chief  good  they  headlong  stray. 
Now  glory's  arduous  toils,  the  breast  inflame; 
Now  avarice  thirsts,  insensible  of  shame; 
Now  sloth  unnerves  them  in  voluptuous  ease: 
And  the  sweet  pleasures  of  the  body  please. 
With  eager  haste  they  rush  the  gulf  within, 
"And  their  whole  souls  are  center'd  in  their  sin. 
But  oh,  great  Jove!   by  whom  all  good  is  given, 
Dweller  with  lightnings,  and  the  clouds  of  heaven! 
Save  from  their  dreadful  error  lost  mankind  1 
Father !   disperse  these  shadows  of  the  mind  1 


209  RHIANUS.  [LECT.  VIIL 

Give  them  thy  pure  and  righteous  law  to  know, 
Wherewith  thy  justice  governs  all  below. 
Thus  honor'd  by  the  knowledge  of  thy  way, 
Shall  men  that  honor  to  thyself  repay; 
And  bid  thy  mighty  works  in  praises  ring, 
As  well  befits  a  mortal's  lips  to  sing: 
More  blest,  nor  men,  nor  heavenly  powers  can  be, 
Than  when  their  songs  are  of  thy  law  and  thee. 

Rhianus,  a  distinguished  Alexandrian  poet  and  grammarian,  was  born 
at  Bene,  an  obscure  city  in  the  island  of  Crete,  about  250  A.C.  Like 
Cleanthes,  he  was  of  low  origin,  and  commenced  his  career  as  the  master 
of  a  gymnastic  circus ;  but  conceiving  an  earnest  and  ardent  desire  for 
literary  attainments,  he  left  his  athletic  pursuits,  and  devoted  all  the 
energies  of  his  mind  to  the  acquisition  of  knowledge — the  result  of  which 
was,  scholarship  of  a  commanding  order,  and  poetic  power  of  lasting  ad- 
miration. Of  his  history,  time  has  unfortunately  preserved  comparatively 
little  information,  farther  than  that  during  a  long  life,  most  of  which  was 
passed  at  Alexandria,  he  devoted  his  chief  attention  to  the  composition 
of  historical  poems,  such  as  the  history  of  Messena,  and  other  cities  of 
antiquity.  He  wrote,  also,  according  to  Suidas,  an  epic  poem,  of  which, 
however,  only  a  single  line  has  been  preserved,  and  a  number  of  epigrams, 
eleven  of  which  are  still  extant. 

Rhianus  was  so  great  a  favorite  of  the  Romans,  as  to  occupy,  in  their 
judgment,  the  first  rank  among  the  Grecian  poets ;  and  Tiberius,  the  ac- 
complished, but  cruel  and  unprincipled  emperor,  placed  his  bust  in  the 
public  libraries  of  Rome,  along  with  those  of  the  most  distinguished  poets 
of  antiquity.  The  moral  fragments  of  the  poetry  of  Rhianus  contain 
much  dignity  and  elevation  of  sentiment ;  and  his  epigrams,  all  of  which 
treat  of  amatory  subjects  with  much  freedom,  excel  in  elegance  of  lan- 
guage, cleverness  of  invention,  and  simplicity  of  expression.  The  two  fol- 
lowing poems  will  illustrate  these  remarks : 


ON  HUMAN  FOLLY. 

Still  err  our  mortal  souls,  nor  wisely  bear 
The  heaven-dealt  lots,  that  still  depress  the  scale 
From  side  to  side.     The  man  of  indigence 
Loads  with  his  bitter  blame  the  gods;   and,  stung 
With  discontent,  neglects  his  mental  powers, 
And  energies;  nor  dares,  courageous,  aught 
Of  speech  or  action;   trembling  when  the  rich 
Appear  before  him — sadness  and  despair 
Eating  his  very  heart.     While  he,  who  swells 
With  proud  prosperity,  whom  heaven  endows 
With  riches,  and  with  power  above  the  crowd ; 
Forgets  his  being's  nature;  that  his  feet 


285A.C.]  ANTAGORAS.  209 

Tread   the    low   earth,  and  that  himself  -was  born 

Of  mortal  parents ;  but,  with  puff'd-up  mind, 

Sinful  in  haughtiness,  like  Jove,  he  wields 

The  thunder;   and,  though  small  in  stature,  lifts 

The  neck,  with  high-rein'd  head,  as  though  he  wooed 

Fair-arm'd  Minerva;   and  had  cleft  a  way 

To  high  Olympus'  top;  that  with  the  gods 

There  number'd,  he  might  feast  in   blessedness. 

But  lo!     Destruction,  running  with  soft  feet, 

Unlook'd  for,  and  unseen,  bows  suddenly 

The  loftiest  heads.     Deceitfully  she  steals 

In  unexpected  forms  upon  their  sins; 

To  youthful  follies  wears  the  face  of  age ; 

To  aged  crimes  the  features  of  a  maid ; 

And  her  dread  deed  is  pleasant  in  the  sight 

Of  Justice,  and  of  him  who  rules  the  gods. 


AMATORY  EPIGRAM. 

Dexionica,  with  a  limed  thread, 
Her  snare,  beneath  a  verdant  plane-tree,  spread; 
And  caught  a  blackbird  by  the  quivering  wing; 
The  struggling  bird's  shrill  outcries  piping  ring. 
Oh,  god  of  love  1     Oh,  Graces,  blooming  fair  ! 
I  would  that  I  a  thrush,  or  blackbird,  were: 
So,  in  her  grasp,  to  breathe  my  murmur'd  cries, 
And  shed  a  sweet  tear  from  my  silent  eyes  1 

A  brief  notice  of  Antagoras,  NicaBnetus,  Dioscorides,  Euphorion,  and 
Damagetes,  all  of  whom  were  poets  of  this  age,  will  close  our  present 
remarks. 

Antagoras  was  a  native  of  the  island  of  Rhodes,  and  was  ranked 
among  the  epic  poets  of  the  period  in  which  he  lived.  He  is  said  to 
have  been  very  fond  of  good  living,  respecting  which,  Plutarch  and 
Athenseus  relate  some  very  facetious  anecdotes.  He  wrote  an  epic 
poem  under  the  title  of  Thebais,  which  he  read  to  the  Bosotians,  to 
whom  it  appeared  so  tedious,  that  they  could  not  refrain  from  yawning. 
He  also  composed  many  epigrams,  of  which  the  following  are  specimens  : 


CUPID'S  GENEALOGY. 

"Whither  shall  we  go  to  prove 
The  genealogy  of  Love? 
Shall  we  call  him  first-created 
Of  the  gods  from  chaos  dated, 
When  Erebus  and  Night  were  mated ; 
And  their  glorious  progeny 
Sprung  from  out  the  secret  sea? 
14 


210  NIC^ENETUS.— DIOSCORIDES.  [LECT.  VIII 

Or  will  Venus  claim  Love's  birth? 
Or  the  roving  Winds,  or  Earth? 
For  his  temper  varieth  so, 
And  the  gifts  he  doth  bestow 
(Like  his  form  which  changeth  still, 
Taking  either  sex  at  will,) 
Are  now  so  good,  and  now  so  bad, 
We  know  not  whence  his  heart  he  had. 


ON  TWO  CYNIC  PHILOSOPHERS. 

Here  Palemo  and  pious  Crates  lie — 

(So  speaks  this  column  to  the  passers  by,) 

In  life  unanimous  and  joined  in  death, 

Who  taught  pure  wisdom  with  inspired  breath : 

Whose  acts,  accordant  with  the  truths  severe 

Their  lips  pronounced,  bespoke  the  soul  sincere. 

NicseneiKis,  an  epigrammatic  writer,  was  a  native  of  Abdera,  in  Thrace, 
but  early  ir:  life  settled  in  Samos.  Athaeneus  speaks  of  him  in  connection 
with  his  celebrating  a  Samian  usage,  as  being  a  poet  of  strong  native 
tendencies.  He  wrote,  among  other  things,  a  list  of  illustrious  women ; 
and  of  his  numerous  epigrams,  six  are  still  preserved.  Of  these  we  give 
the  following :' 

THE  PRECEPT  OF  CRATINUS. 

If  with  water  you  fill  up  your  glasses, 

You'll  never  write  anything  wise; 
For  wine  is  the  horse  of  Parnassus, 

Which  hurries  a  bard  to  the  skies. 


THE  FETE  CHAMPETRE. 

Not  in  the  city  be  my  banquet  spread, 

But  in  sweet  meadows,  where  around  my  head, 

The  zephyr  may  float  freely :  be  my  seat 

The  mossy  platform  of  some  green  retreat, 

Where  shrubs  and  creepers,  starting  at  my  side, 

May  furnish  cushion  smooth  and  carpet  wide. 

Let  wine  be  served  us,  and  the  warbling  lyre 

Trill  forth  soft  numbers  of  the  Muses'  choir ; 

That  we,  still  drinking,  and  our  hearts  contenting, 

And  still  to  dulcet  tones  new  hymns  inventing, 

May  sing  Jove's  bride,  from  whence  these  pleasures  come, 

The  guardian  goddess  of  our  island  home. 

Dioscorides  seems,  from  the  internal  evidence  of  his  epigrams,  of  which 
there  are  thirty-nine  in  the  Greek  Anthology,  to  have  lived  in  Egypt, 


274A.CVJ  EUPHORION.  211 

and  to  have  flourished  during  the  reigrf  of  Ptolemy  Euergetes,  His 
epigrams  are  chiefly  upon  the  great  men  of  antiquity,  especially  the  poets, 
and  were  highly  esteemed  by  his  contemporaries.  The  two  following  are 
exceptions  to  their  general  character  : 

THE  PERSIAN  SLAVE  TO  HIS  MASTER. 

0  master  !   shroud  my  body,  when  I  die, 
In  decent  cerements  from  the  vulgar  eye. 

.But  burn  me  not  upon  yon  funeral  pyre, 
Nor  dare  the  gods  and  desecrate  their  fire; 

1  am  a  Persian ;  'twere  a  Persian's  shame 
To  dip  his  body  in  the  sacred  flame. 

Nor  o'er  my  worthless  limbs  your  waters  pour ; 
For  streams  and  fountains  Persia's  sons  adore: 
But  leave  me  to  the  clods  that  gave  us  birth, — 
For  dust  should  turn  to  dust,  and  earth  to  earth, 


SPARTAN  VIRTUE. 

When  Thrasybulus  from  the  embattled  field 
"Was  breathless  borne  to  Sparta  on  his  shield, 
His  honored  corse,  disfigured  still  with  gore, 
From  seven  wide  wounds,  (but  all  received  before,) 
Upon  the  pyre  his  hoary  lather  laid, 
And  to  the  admiring  crowd  triumphant  said: 
Let  slaves  lament, — while  I,  without  a  tear, 
Lay  mine  and  Sparta's  son  upon  his  bier. 

Euphorion,  a  native  of  Chalcis,  in  Euboea,  was  eminent  both  as  a  gram- 
marian and  poet.  He  was  the  son  of  Polymnetus,  and  was  born,  accord- 
ing to  Suidas,  274  A.C.,  the  same  year  in  which  Pyrrhus  was  defeated  by 
the  Romans.  He  became,  but  at  what  period  of  his  life  is  not  known,  a 
citizen  of  Athens,  and  was  there  instructed  in  philosophy  by  Lacydes 
and  Prytanis,  and  in  poetry  by  Archebulus  of  Thera.  Having  amassed 
great  wealth,  he  went  into  Syria,  to  Antiochus  the  Great,  who  made  him 
his  librarian.  After  residing  for  many  years  in  Syria  he  there  died,  and 
was  buried  at  Antioch,  the  capitol  of  the  Syrian  empire. 

Euphorion  was  a  writer  of  much  more  than  ordinary  genius,  and  his 
works  were  very  numerous,  both  in  poetry  and  prose.  His  poems  were 
chiefly  of  the  epic  class,  and  related  principally  to  mythological  history. 
He  was,  however,  an  epigrammatist  as  well  as  an  epic  poet,  and  had  a 
place  in  the  Garland  of  Meleager.  He  was  also  a  great  favorite  of  the 
emperor  Tiberius,  who  wrote  Greek  poems  in  imitation  of  him.  The 
following  epigrams  are  very  sweet : 

ON  A  CORPSE  WASHED  ASHORE. 

Not  rugged  Trachis  hides  these  whitening  bones, 
Nor  that  black  isle,  whose  name  its  colors  shows, 


212  DAMAGETES.    •  [LECT.  VIII 

But  the  wild  beach,  p'er  which  with  ceaseless  moans 

The  vexed  Icarian  wave  eternal  flows, 
Of  Drepanus — ill-fated  promontory — 

And  there,  instead  of  hospitable  rites, 
The  long  grass  sweeping  tells  his  fate's  sad  story 

To  rude  tribes  gathered  from  the  neighboring  heights.  . 


ON    TEARS. 

Be  temperate  in  grief!     I  would  not  hide 
The  starting  tear-drop  with  a  Stoic's  pride, — 
I  would  not  bid  the  o'erburthen'd  heart  be  still, 
And  outrage  Nature  with  contempt  of  ill. 
Weep ;  but  not  loudly !     He,  whose  stony  eyes 
Ne'er  melt  in  tears,  is  hated  by  the  skies. 

Damagetes,  the  poet  with  whom  we  close  our  present  remarks,  was  the 
author  of  thirteen  epigrams  in  the  Greek  Anthology,  from  the  contents 
of  some  of  which  we  ascertain  that  he  flourished  about  225  A.C.,  and 
probably  in  Egypt.  His  name  is  given  by  the  Scoliast  to  Apollonius 
Khodius,  from  which  we  infer  that  his  position  among  the  wits  of  the  age 
Was  prominent.  The  following  epigrams  are  well  worth  preserving : 


ON  A  WIFE 


These  the  last  words,  Theano,  swift  descending 
To  the  deep  shades  of  night,  was  heard  to  say, — 

'  Alas  I   and  is  it  thus  my  life  is  ending, 
And  thou,  my  husband,  far  o'er  seas  away  ? 

Ah  1  could  I  but  that  dear  hand  press  with  mine, 

Once — once  again  I — all  else  I'd  pleas'd  resign.' 


ON  TWO  THEBAN  BROTHERS 

SLAIN    IN    THRACE. 

By  Jove,  the  god  of  strangers,  we  implore 
Thee,  gentle  pilgrim,  to  the  JSolian  shore, 
(Our  Theban  home,)  the  tidings  to  convey 
That  here  we  lie,  to  Thracian  wolves  a  prey. 
This  to  our  father,  old  Charinus,  tell; 
And,  with  it,  this, — 4  We  mourn  not  that  we  fell 
In  early  youth,  of  all  our  hopes  bereft ; 
But  thajt  his  darkening  age  is  lonely  left.' 


Kntnn  t|rt 


BION.—  MOSCHTJS.—  NICANDER.  —  TYMNES.—  POLYSTRATUS.  —  ANTIPA- 
TER  OF  SIDON.—  ARCHIAS.—  MELEAGER.—  PHILODEMUS.  —  CRINA- 
GORAS.—  ZONAS.—  ANTIPHALUS.—  LEONIDAS.—  PHILIP.—  ANTIPATER 
OF  THESSALONICA,—  AND  THE  GREEK  POETS  AFTER  THE  CHRIS- 
TIAN ERA. 


poets  who  occupied  our  time  and  attention  during  the  last  lee. 
JL  ture,  lived  at  a  time  when  the  literature  of  the  Alexandrian  school 
had  become  thoroughly  established  —  when  originality  of  thought  and 
vigor  of  expression  were  all  but  extinct  ;  and  though  the  ancient  writers 
were  most  highly  valued,  their  spirit  was  lost,  and  the  chief  use  made  of 
them  was  to  heap  together  their  materials  in  elaborate  compilations,  and 
expound  them  by  trivial  and  fanciful  additions,  while  the  noble  forms  of 
verse,  in  which  they  had  embodied  their  thoughts,  were  made  the  vehicles 
of  a  mass  of  cumbrous  learning.  Hence  the  complaints  which  the  best 
of  succeeding  writers  made  of  the  obscurity,  verbosity,  and  tediousness 
of  Lycophron,  Callimachus,  Euphorion,  and  the  other  chief  writers  of  the 
long  period,  during  which  the  Alexandrian  grammarians  ruled  the  liter- 
ary world. 

Bion  and  Moschus,  whom  we  are^next  to  notice,  though  belonging  to 
the  same  school,  differed  from  their  associates  and  immediate  predeces- 
sors in  many  essential  particulars.  They  were,  perhaps,  more  purely 
imaginative  than  any  other  poets  of  antiquity.  The  spirit  of  poetry 
seems  not  only  to  have  seized  upon  their  feelings,  but  to  have  absorbed 
all  the  powers  of  their  intellect  ;  and  hence  in  the  breathing  forth  of 
their  numbers  there  is  so  little  c  of  the  earth  earthy.' 

Bion  was  born  at  Phlossa,  a  small  town  on  the  river  Meles,  in  the 
vicinity  of  Smyrna,  about  200  A.C.  Having  acquired  a  poetic  reputa- 
tion in  Smyrna,  he  was  soon  drawn  from  that  city  by  the  attractions  of 
the  court  of  Alexandria,  and  under  the  reign  of  Ptolemy  Philometer  he 
basked,  for  a  few  years,  in  the  sunshine  of  uninterrupted  prosperity  ;  but 
having,  in  some  way  not  known,  given  offence  to  his  munificent  patron, 
he  left  Egypt,  and  for  many  years  after  resided  in  the  island  of  Sicily, 


214  BION  [LEOT.  IX. 

cultivating  bucolic  poetry,  the  natural  growth  of  that  island.  He  after- 
wards, according  to  Moschus,  visited  Macedonia  and  Thrace,  and  was 
finally  put  to  .death  by  poison,  administered,  as  is  supposed,  by  royal 
order.  The  lines  of  Moschus,  found  in  his  *  Elegy  on  Bion,'  which 
induce  this  opinion,  are  the  following : 

What  man  so  hard  could  mix  the  draught  for  thee,' 
Or  bid  be  mixed,  nor* feel  thy  melody? 

Bion's  poems  are  usually  called  idyls,  and  he  is  commonly  reckoned 
among  the  bucolic  poets ;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  this  name  is 
not  confined  to  the  subjects  that  it  really  indicates ;  for,  in  the  time  of 
Bion,  bucolic  poetry  embraced  that  class  of  poems,  also,  in  which  the 
legends  about  gods  and  heroes  were  treated  from  an  erotic  point  of 
view.  He  wrote  in  hexameter  verse  exclusively;  and  his  language  is 
usually  the  Doric  dialect,  mixed  with  Attic  and  Ionic  forms.  His  style 
is  highly  refined,  his  sentiments  soft  and  sentimental,  and  his  versification 
very  fluent  and  elegant. 

The  elegy  of  Bion  on  Adonis  is  in  the  strain  of  that  pure  and  elevated 
poetry  which  is  so  rarely  seen ;  and  it  is  worthy  of  notice  that  '  Venus 
and  Adonis '  formed  the  subject  of  the  first  important  effort  of  the  immor- 
tal Shakspeare.  In  both  these  poems  the  poets  create  not  only  the 
feelings  which  they  express,  but  the  objects  upon  which  those  feelings 
are  expanded.  Thus,  as  has  been  exquisitely  said  by  the  latter  of  these 
two  great  poets — 

The  poet's  eye  in  a  fine  phrenzy  rolling, 

Glances  from  Heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  Heaven; 

And  as  imagination  bodies  forth 

The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 

Turns  them  to  shape,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing, 

A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 

It  is  this  peculiar  property  which  gives  character  to  that  remarkable 
elegy.  Indeed,  every  thing  in  Bion  partakes  essentially  of  the  poet. 
His  apologues  are  beautiful  models  of  allegory,  and  delight  us  by  their 
unaffected  archness,  and  the  sweetness  of  their  simplicity.  These  re- 
marks will  be  fully  illustrated  by  the  elegy  itself,  which  follows  : 

ELEGY  ON  ADONIS. 

I  mourn  Adonis,  fair  Adonis  dead: 

The  Loves  their  tears  for  fair  Adonis  shed: 

No  more,  oh  Venus !   sleep  in  purple  vest ; 

Rise  robed  in  blue :   ah,  sad  one  1  smite  thy  breast, 

And  cry,  'the  fair  Adonis  is  no  more.' 

I  mourn  Adonis ;  him  the  Loves  deplore : 

See  fair  Adonis  on  the  mountains  lie ; 

The  boar's  white  tusk  has  rent  his  whiter  thigh: 


200A.C.J  BION.  215 

While  in  faint  gasps  big  life-breath  ebbs  away, 

Griefs  harrowing  agonies  on  Venus  prey : 

Black  through  the  snowy  flesh  the  blood-drops  creep ; 

The  eyes  beneath  his  brows  in  torpor  sleep : 

The  rose  has  fled  his  lips,  and  with  him  dies 

The  kiss,  that  Venus,  though  in  death,  shall  prize : 

Dear  is  the  kiss,  though  life  the  lips  have  fled , 

But  not  Adonis  feels  it  warm  the  dead. 

I  mourn  Adonis :    mourn  the  Loves  around : 
Ah  !   cruel,  cruel  is  that  bleeding  wound : 
Yet  Venus  feels  more  agonizing  smart ; 
A  deeper  wound  has  pierced  within  her  heart. 
Around  the  youth  his  hounds  in  howlings  yell; 
And  shriek  the  nymphs  from  every  mountain  dell. 
Ven\is.  herself,  among  the  forest  dales, 
Unsandel'd,  strews  her  tresses  to  the  gales: 
The  wounding  brambles,  bent  beneath  her  tread, 
With  sacred  blood-drops  of  her  feet  are  red  : 
She  through  the  lengthening  vallies  shrieks  and  cries, 
'Say  where  my  young  Assyrian  bridegroom  lies?' 
But  round  his  navel  black  the  life-blood  flowed, 
His  snowy  breast  and  side  with  purple  glow'd. 

Ah,  Venus !   ah,  the  Loves  for  thee  bewail ; 
With  that  lost  youth  thy  fading  graces  fail; 
Her  beauty  bloom'd,  while  life  was  in  his  eyes 
Ah,  woe  !   with  him  it  bloom'd,  with  him  it  dies. 
The  oaks  and  mountains  'ah,  Adonis!'  sigh: 
The  rivers  moan  to  Venus'  agony : 
The  mountain  springs  all  trickle  into  tears : 
The  blush  of  grief  on  every  flower  appears: 
And  Venus  o'er  each  solitary  hill, 
And  through  wide  cities  chaunts  her  dirges  shrill. 

Woe,  Venus  !   woe  !     Adonis  is  no  more  : 
Echoes  repeat  the  lonely  mountains  o'er, 
'  Adonis  is  no  more :'   woe,  woe  is  me ! 
Who  at  her  grievous  love  dry-eyed  can  be? 
Mute  at  th'  intolerable  wound  she  stood : 
And  saw,  and  knew  the  thigh  dash'd  red  with  blood : 
Groaning  she  stretch'd  her  arms :   and  '  stay  I'   she  said, 
'Stay,  poor  Adonis! — lift  thy  languid  head: 
Ah!    let  me  find  thy  last  expiring  breath, 
Mix  lips  with  lips,  and  suck  thy  soul  to  death. 
Wake  but  a  little,  for  a  last,  last  kiss : 
Be  it  the  last,  but  warm  with  life,  as  this. 
That  through  my  lips  I  may  thy  spirit  drain, 
Suck  thy  sweet  breath,  drink  love  through  every  yein : 
This  kiss  shall  serve  me  ever  in  thy  stead ; 
Since  thou  thyself,  unhappy  one  !   art  ffed : 
Thou  art  fled  far  to  Acheron's  drear  scene, 
A  king  abhorr'd,  and  an  inhuman  queen : 
I  feel  the  woe,  yet  live :   and  fain  would  be 
No  goddess,  thus  in  death  to  follow  thee. 


216  El  ON.  [LECT.IX 

Take  Proserpine,  my  spouse :   all  loveliest  things 

Time  to  thy  realm,  oh  mightier  goddess !   brings : 

Disconsolate  I  mourn  Adonis  dead, 

With  tears  unsated,  and  thy  name  I  dread. 

Oh  thrice-belov'd !   thou  now  art  dead  and  gone  1 

And  all  my  sweet  love,  like  a  dream,  is  flown. 

Venus  sinks  lonely  on  a  widow'd  bed : 

The  Loves  with  listless  feet  my  chamber  tread : 

My  cestus  perish'd  with  thyself:   ah  why. 

Fair  as  thou  wert,  the  coverts  venturous  try, 

And  tempt  thy  woodland  monster's  cruelty?' 

So  Venus  mourns :   her  loss  the  Loves  deplore : 
Woe,  Venus,  woe  !   Adonis  is  no  more. 
As  many  drops  as  from  Adonis  bled, 
So  many  tears  the  sorrowing  Venus  shed :  j 

For  every  drop  on  earth  a  flower  there  grows: 
Anemones  for  tears ;   for  blood  the  rose. 

I  mourn  Adonis  :   fair  Adonis  dead  : 
Not  o'er  the  youth  in  words  thy  sorrows  shed : 
For  thy  Adonis'  limbs  a  couch  is  strewn, 
That  couch  he  presses,  Venus  !   'tis  thy  own. 
There  dead  he  lies,  yet  fair    in    blooming  grace : 
Still  fair,  as  if  with  slumber  on  his  face. 
Haste,  lay  him  on  the  golden  stand,  and  spread 
The  garments  that  inrobed  him  in  thy  bed, 
When  on  thy  heavenly  breast  the  livelong  night 
He  slept,  and  court  him,  though  he  scare  thy  sight: 
Lay  him  with  garlands  and  with  flowers ;   but  all 
With  him  are  dead,  and  wither'd  at  his  falL 
With  balms  anoint  him  from  the  myrtle  tree : 
Or  perish  ointments ;   for  thy  balm  was  he. 

Now  on  his  purple  vest  Adonis  lies : 
The  groans  of  weeping  Loves  around  him  rise : 
Shorn  of  their  locks  beneath  their  feet  they  throw 
The  quiver  plumed,  the  darts,  and  broken  bow : 
One  slips  the  sandal,  one  the  water  brings 
In  golden  ewer,  one  fans  him  with  his  wings. 

The  Loves  o'er  Venus'  self  bewail  with  tears, 
And  Hymen  in  the  vestibule  appears 
Shrouding  his  torch;  and  spreads  in  silent  grief 
The  vacant  wreath  that  twined  its  nuptial  leaf. 
'  Hymen  !'   no  more :  but  '  woe,  alas  !'   they  sing : 
*  Ah,  for  Adonis  !'     '  Ah  !   for  Hymen  !'   ring : 
The  Graces  for  the  son  of  Myrrha  pine ; 
And,  Venus !   shriek  with  shriller  voice  than  thine. 
Muses,  Adonis,  fair  Adonis,  call, 
And  sing  him  back ;  but  he  is  deaf  to  all. 
Bootless  the  sorrow,  that  would  touch  his  sprite, 
Nor  Proserpine  shall  loose  him  to  the  light: 
Cease  Venus!  now   thy   wail:  reserve  thy  tear: 
Again  to  fall  with  each  Adonian  year. 


200A.C.]  BION.  217 


HYMN  TO  THE  EVENING  STAR. 

Mild  star  of  eve,  whose  tranquil  beams 
Are  grateful  to  the  queen  of  love, 

Fair  planet,  whose  effulgence  gleams 
More  bright  than  all  the  host  above, 

And  only  to  the  moon's  clear  light 

Yields  the  first  honors  of  the  night  I 

All  hail,  thou  soft,  thou  holy  stai, 
Thou  glory  of  the  midnight  sky  1 

And  when  my  steps  are  wandering  fai, 
Leading  the  shepherd-minstrelsy, 

Then,  if  the  moon  deny  her  ray 

Oh  guide  me,  Hesper,  on  my  way  1 

No  savage  robber  of  the  dark, 
No  foul  assassin  claims  thy  aid 

To  guide  his  dagger  to  its  mark, 
Or  light  him  on  his  plund'ring  trade; 

My  gentle  errand  is  to  prove 

The  transports  of  requited  love. 


THE  TEACHER  TAUGHT. 

As  late  I  slumbering  lay,  before  my  sight 
Bright  Venus  rose  in  visions  of  the  night: 
She  led  young  Cupid;   as  in  thought  profound 
His  modest  eyes  were  fix'd  upon  the  ground ; 
And  thus  she  spoke:   'To  thee,  dear  swain,  I  bring 
My  little  son;   instruct  the  boy  to  sing.' 

No  more  she  said;   but  vanish'd  into  air, 
And  left  the  wily  pupil  to  my  care : 
I, — sure  I  was  an  idiot  for  my  pains, — 
Began  to  teach  him  old  bucolic  strains ; 
How  Pan  the  pipe,  how  Pallas  form'd  the  flute, 
Phoabus  the  lyre,  and  Mercury  the  lute : 
Love,  to  my  lessons  quite  regardless  grown, 
Sang  lighter  lays,  and  sonnets  of  his  own ; 
Th'  amours  of  men  below,  and  gods  above, 
And  all  the  triumphs  of  the  Queen  of  Love. 
I, — sure  the  simplest  of  all  shepherd-swains  — 
Full  soon  forgot  my  old  bucolic  strains ; 
The  lighter  lays  of  love  my  fancy  caught, 
And  I  remember'd  all  that  Cupid  taught. 


THE  SEASONS. 

CLEODAMAS. 


Say,  in  their  courses  circling  as  they  tend, 
What  season  is  most  grateful  to  my  friend! 


218  BION.  [LECT.  IX. 

Summer,  whose  suns  mature  the  teeming  ground, 
Or  golden  Autumn,  with  full  harvests  crown'd  ? 
Or  Winter  hoar,  when  soft  reclin'd  at  ease, 
The  fire  bright  blazing,  and  sweet  leisure  please  ? 
Or  genial  Spring  in  blooming  beauty  gay? 
Speak  Myrson,  while  around  the  lambkins  play. 

MYRSON. 

It  ill  becomes  frail  mortals  to  define 
What's  best  and  fittest  of  the  works  divine; 
The  works  of  nature  all  are  grateful  found, 
And  all  the  Seasons,  in  their  various  round; 
But,  since  my  friend  demands  my  private  voice, 
Then  learn  the  season  that  is  Myrson's  choice. 
Me  the  hot  Summer's  sultry  heats  displease; 
Fell  Autumn  teems  with  pestilent  disease ; 
Tempestuous  Winter's  chilling  frosts  I  fear, 
But  wish  for  purple  Spring  throughout  the  year. 
Then  neither  cold  nor  heat  molests  the  morn, 
But  rosy  Plenty  fills  her  copious  horn ; 
Then  bursting  buds  their  odorous  blooms  display, 
And  Spring  makes  equal  night,  and  equal  day. 


SHORTNESS  OF  LIFE. 

If  any  virtue  my  rude  songs  can  claim, 
Enough  the  Muse  has  given  to  build  my  fame; 
But  if  .condemned  ingloriously  to  die, 
Why  longer  raise  my  mortal  minstrelsy  ? 
Had  Jove  a  Fate  to  life  two  seasons  lent, 
In  toil  and  ease  alternate  to  be  spent. 
Then  well  one  portion  labor  might  employ 
In  expectation  of  the  following  joy; 
But  if  one  only  age  of  life  is  due 
To  man,  and  that  so  short  and  transient  too, 
How  long  (ah,  miserable  race !)  in  care 
And  fruitless  labor  waste  the  vital  air  ? 
How  long  with  idle  toil  to  wealth  aspire, 
And  feed  a  never-satisfied  desire  ? 
How  long  forget  that,  mortal  from  our  birth, 
Short  is  our  troubled  sojourn  on  the  earth. 


FRIENDSHIP. 

Thrice  ha"ppy  they  I    whose  friendly  hearts  can  burn 
With  purest  flame,  and  meet  a  kind  return. 
With  dear  Perithous,  as  poets  tell, 
Theseus  was  happy  in  the  shades  of  hell : 
Orestes'  soul  no  peace,  no  woes,  deprest; 
Midst  Scythians  he  with  Pylades  was  blest. 


184  A.C.]  MOSCHUS.  219 

Blest  was  Achilles,  while  his  friend  survived, 
Blest  was  Patroclus  every  hour  he  lived ; 
Blest,  when  in  battle  he  resign'd  his  breath, 
For  his  unconquer'd  friend  aveng'd  his  death. 


Moschus,  tTie  friend  and  pupil  of  Bion,  was  born  at  Syracuse,  in  the 
island  of  Sicily,  about  184  A.C.  He  early  repaired  to  the  court  of  Alex- 
andria, and  soon  after  his  arrival  at  that  common  resort  of  the  learned 
of  that  period,  an  intimacy  commenced  between  him  and  Bion  not  unlike 
that  which  had  previously  existed  between  Theocritus  and  Aratus.  Of 
his  personal  history  nothing  is  farther  known,  than  that  he  passed  many 
years  at  the  court  of  Egypt,  and  professedly  made  Bion's  poems  the 
models  for  his  own  compositions. 

Of  the  works  of  Moschus" still  extant,  the  Elegy  on  Bioh,  and  Europa, 
are  the  most  important.  Besides  these  larger  pieces,  there  are  a  few 
fragments  of  other  poems  remaining,  and  one  epigram.  He  was,  like 
Theocritus,  a  bucolic  poet ;  and  so  great  is  the  similarity  between  the 
style  and  manner  of*  many  of  their  compositions,  that  their  pieces  have 
frequently  been  mistaken  for  each  others.  Indeed,  some  critics  have  re- 
garded him  as  one  of  the  contemporaries  of  Theocritus,  whilst  others 
have  even  conceived  the  two  names  to  belong  to  the  same  person ;  but  as 
Moschus  alludes  expressly  to  Theocritus,  as  one  of  his  great  predeces- 
sors, there  can,  of  course,  be  no  foundation  for  this  opinion.  His  apo- 
logues are  so  similar  to  those  of  Bion,  as  to  be  with  difficulty  distin- 
guished from  them. 

,  Moschus'  elegy  on  Bion,  like  the  Lycidas  of  Milton,  breathes  forth,  in 
the  tenderest  strains,  his  melancholy  recollections  of  his  friend,  and  his 
ardent  attachment  to  him.  The  poem  may,  at  first  view,  appear  forced 
and  affected,  from  its  exuberance  of  conceit ;  and  thus  Dr.  Johnson  re- 
garded both  it  and  Lycidas ;  for,  says  the  learned  critic,  <  Whefe  there  is 
real  sorrow,  there  is  nothing  of  mere  poetry.'  This  criticism  is,  however, 
hypercritical,  and  contrary  to  popular  feeling ;  and  hence  we  find  that 
Shakspeare,  who  had  from  nature  the  deepest  intuition  into  the  compli- 
cated science  of  mental  philosophy,  saw  that  the  human  mind  perpetually 
foils  the  calculations  of  previous  reasoning.  (^We  are  often  struck  with 
the  language  and  deportment  of  his  characters,  as  contrary  to  what  might 
have  been  expected  under  such  circumstances ;  and  yet  we  shall  invari- 
ably find  that  the  great  dramatist,  in  disappointing  the  vulgar  notions  of 
probability  or  consistency,  has  uniformly  followed  the  impulses  of  practi- 
cal human  life. 

We  are,  therefore,  constrained  to  regard  both  the  elegy  of  Moschus 
and  the  Lycidas  of  Milton  as  no  impeachment  of  the  poet's  accurate 
taste  or  genuine  simplicity  of  feeling.  It  is,  in  either  instance,  the 


220  MOSCHUS.  [LECT.  IX. 

luxury  of  sorrow  which  pleases  itself  with  grotesque  and  romantic  crea- 
tions of  an  excited  fancy.  It  is  the  revery  of  the  poet,  accompanied 
with  that  natural  irregularity  of  the  mind,  that  unseating  of  the  judg- 
ment by  an  over-balance  of  the  imagination,  which  marks  the  delirious 
axcess  of  melancholy  in  the  man — the  melancholy  of  the  natural  man, 
conscious  of  a  decaying  principle  within  him,  which  breaks  out  patheti- 
cally in  that  beautiful  complaint  of  the  utter  extinction  of  human  life,  as 
compared  with  the  reviviscence  of  plants  and  flowers.  I  In  that  magnifi- 
cent poem  of  the  Old  Testament,  the  Book  of  Job,  there  is  a  passage 
very  similar  to  this  elegy  of  Moschus,  though  far  exceeding  it  in  sub- 
limity. It  is  found  in  the  'fourteenth  chapter,  and  is  thus  forcibly  ren- 
dered in  our  standard  version  : — 

7.  For  there  is  hope  of  a  tree,  if  it  be  cut  down,  that  it  will  sprout  again,  and 
that  the  tender  branch  thereof  will  not  cease : 

8.  Though  the  root  thereof  wax  old  in  the  earth,  and  the  stock  thereof  lie  in 
the  ground : 

9.  Yet  through  the  scent  of  water  it  will  bud,'  and  bring  forth  boughs  like  a 
plant: 

10.  But  man  dieth,  and  wasteth  away;  yea,  man  giveth  up  the  ghost,  and  where 
is  he? 

11.  As  the  waters  fail  from  the  sea,  and  the  flood  decay eth  and  drieth  up : 

12.  So  man  lieth  down,  and  riseth  not,  till  the  heavens  be  no  more,  they  shall 
not  awake ;  nor  be  raised  out  of  their  sleep. 

LAMENT  FOR  BION. 

Oh  forest  dells  and  streams !   oh  Dorian  tide ! 

Groan  with  my  grief,  since  lovely  Bion  died: 

Ye  plants  and  copses  now  his  loss  bewail: 

Flowers  from  your  tufts,  a  sad  perfume  exhale : 

Anemones  and  roses,  mournful  show 

Your  crimson  leaves,  and  wear  a  blush  of  woe : 

And  hyacinth,  now  more  than  ever  spread 

The  woeful  ah  !  that  marks  thy  petal'd  head 

With  letter'd  grief:   the  beauteous  minstrel's  dead.  • 

Sicilian  Muses,  poyr  the  dirge  of  woe : 
Ye  nightingales,  whose  plaintive  warblings  flow 
From  the  thick  leaves  of  some  embowering  wood, 
Tell  the  sad  loss  to  Arethusa's  flood : 
The  shepherd  Bion  dies:  with  him  is  dead 
The  life  of  song:  the  Doric  Muse  is  fled. 

Sicilian  Muses,  pour  the  dirge  of  woe : 
Where  Strymon's  gliding  waters  .smoothly  flow, 
Ye  swans,  chant  soft  with  saddest  murmuring 
Such  notes  as  Bion's  self  was  wont  to  sing: 
Let  Thracia's  maids,  the  nymphs  of  Hsemus,  learn, 
The  Doric  Orpheus  slumbers  in  his  urn. 

Sicilian  Muses,  pour  the  dirge  of  woe : 
The  herds  no  more  that  chant  melodious  know : 


'84  A.C.]  MOSCHUS.  221 

No  more  beneath  the  lonely  oaks  he  sings, 
But  breathes  his  strains  to  Lethe's  sullen  springs: 
The  mountains  now  are  mute ;  the  heifers  pass 
Slow-wandering  by,  nor  browse  the  tender  grass. 

Sicilian  Muses,  pour  the  dirge  of  woe : 
For  thee,  oh  Bion !   in  the  grave  laid  low, 
Apollo  weeps :   dark  palls  the  Sylvan's  shroud ; 
Fauns  ask  thy  wonted  song,  and  wail  aloud : 
Each  fountain-nymph  disconsolate  appears, 
And  all  her  waters  turn  to  trickling  tears; 
Mute  Echo  pines  the  silent  rocks  around, 
And  mourns  those  lips,  that  waked  $heir  sweetest  sound : 
Trees  dropp'd  their  fruitage  at  thy  fainting  breath,- 
And  flowers  were  wither'd  at  the  blast  of  death : 
The  flocks  no  more  their  luscious  milk  bestow'd, 
Nor  from  the  hive  the  golden  honey  flow'd: 
Grief  in  its  cells  the  flowery  nectar  dried, 
And  honey  lost  its  sweets  when  Bion  died. 

The  dirge  of  woe,  Sicilian  Muses !   pour : 
Ne'er  mourn'd  the  dolphin  on  the  ocean  shore, 
Ne'er  on  the  rocks  so  sang  the  nightingale, 
Nor  the  sad  swallow  in  the  mountain  dale ; 
Ne'er  did  the  halcyon's  notes  so  plaintive  flow; 
Sicilian  Muses,  pour  the  dirge  of  woe: 

Nor  ere  the  sea-mew  shrill'd  its  mournful  strain 
Midst  the  blue  waters  of  the  glassy  main , 
Nor  the  Memnonian  bird  was  wont  to  sing 
In  Eastern  vales,  light-hovering  on  the  wing, 
Where  slept  Aurora's  sun  within  the  tomb, 
As  when  they  wail'd  the  lifeless  Bion's  doom. 

Sicilian  Muses,  pour  the  dirge  of  woe: 
The  swallows,  nightingales,  that  wont  to  know 
His  pipe  with  joy ;   whose  throats  he  taught  to  sing, 
Perch'd^on  the  branches  made  their  dirges  ring: 
All  other  birds  replied  from  all  the  grove ; 
And  ye  too  mourn,  oh  every  woodland  dove ! 

Sicilian  Muses,  potfr  the  dirge  of  woe ; 
Who,  dear-beloved  1   thy  silent  flute  shall  blow  ? 
What  hardy  lip  shall  thus  adventurous  be  ? 
Thy  lip  has  touch'd  the  pipe ;   it  breathes  of  thee. 
Mute  Echo,"  too,  has  caught  the  warbled  sound 
In  whispering  reeds,  that  vocal  tremble  round: 
I  bear  the  pipe  to  Pan:  yet,  haply  he 
May  fear  the  trial  leat  eclips'd  by  thee 

Sicilian  Muses,  pour  the  dirge  of  woe : 
The  tears  of  pensive  Galataea  flow 
Missing  thy  songs,  which  on  our  ear  would  glide, 
When  on  the  sea-shore  sitting  by  thy  side: 
Unlike  the  Cyclop's  music  was  thy  lay, 
For  she,  from  him,  disdainful  fled  away : 
She  from  the  ocean  look'd  on  thee  serene. 
And  now,  forgetful  of  the  watery  scene, 


222  M  0  S  C  H  U  S .  [LECT.  IX. 

Still  on  the  desert  sands,  beside  the  brine, 

She  feeds  the  wandering  herds,  that  late  were  thine. 

Sicilian  Muses,  pour  the  dirge  of  woe: 
Whatever  gift  the  Muses  could  bestow 
Are  dead  with  thee;  whate'er  the  damsels  gave 
Of  sweet-lipp'd  kisses,  buried  in  thy  grave. 
Around  thy  sepulchre  the  Loves  deplore 
Their  loss ;  and  Venus,  shepherd !   loves  thee  more 
Than  the  soft  kiss,  which  late  she  bent  to  sip 
From  dying  fragrance  of  Adonis'  lip. 
Oh,  Meles  !   most  melodious  stream ;  behold 
Another  grief,  like  Homer's  loss  of  old : 
Calliope's  sweet  mouth :    thy  streams  did  run 
In  wailing  tides  to  mourn  that  mighty  son : 
Thou  with  thy  voice  didst  fill  the  greater  sea: 
Behold  another  son  is  lost  to  thee: 
Shrunk  are  thy  streams ;   both  bathed  in  holiest  dews : 
Both  dear  alike  to  fountains  of  the  Muse : 
This  drank  where  Pegasus  had  delved  the  hill' 
That  dipp'd  the  cup  in  Arethusa's  rill : 
This  sang  Tyndarian  Helen's  matchless  charms, 
Thetis'  great  son,  and  Menelaus'  arms : 
But  that  no  wars,  no  tears,  in  numbers  roll'd; 
Pan,  swains,  he  sang,  and  singing  fed  his  fold ; 
The  sweet-breath'd  heifer  milk'd;  the  pipes  combined 
And  taught  how  damsels  kiss  most  melting  kind: 
The  infant  Love  he  fondled  on  his  breast, 
And  Venus'  self  her  soothest  swaim  caress'd. 

Sicilian  Muses,  pour  the  dirge  of  woe: 
Tears  for  thy  loss  through  famous  cities  flow: 
Ascra  less  pensive  bends  o'er  Hesiod's  urn, 
And  less  Boeotia's  woods,  for  Pindar  mourn: 
Not  so  tower'd  Lesbos  weeps,  Alcseus'  strains, 
Or  Cos  for  lost  Simonides  complains : 
Paros  regrets  Archilochus  no  more, 
And  Mitylene  scorns  for  thine  her  Sappho's  lore. 
What  though  the  Syracusan  vales  among 
Theocritus  may  tune  a  defter  song ; 
I  sing  Italian  ditties  sad;  nor  they 
Too  far  are  strange  from  that  Bucolic  lay 
Which  from  thy  lips  thy  list'ning  scholars  caught 
Heirs  of  the  Doric  Muse,  which  Bion  taught. 
Thy  wealth  to  others  left  unmoved  I  see, 
For  thou  hast  left  thy  minstrelsy  to  me. 

Sicilian  Muses,  pour  the  dirge  ef  woe : 
Ah,  me  1   ah,  me !   the  fading  mallows  strow 
The  garden  beds:    the  parsley's  verdant  wreath, 
And  crisped  anise  shed  their  bloomy  breath : 
Yet  the  new  year  shall  fresh  existence  give, 
Warm  their  green  veins,  and  bid  them  blow  and  live. 
But  we,  the  great,  the  valiant,  and  the  wise, 
When  once  in  death  we  close  our  pallid  eyes. 


184A.C.]  MOSCHUS.  223 

In  earth's  dark  caverns,  senseless,  slumber  o'er 

The  long  and  endless  sleep,  the  sleep  that  wakes  no  more. 

Thou,  too,  in  silence  of  the  ground  art  laid: 

The  nymphs  are  pleased  that  croaking  frogs  invade 

Their  list'ning  ears;   and  let  them  sing  for  me: 

The  song  that's  discord  cannot  envied  be. 

Sicilian  Muses,  pour  the  dirge  of  woe : 
Poison  has  touch'd  thy  lips;  its  venom  slow 
Has  curdled  in  thy  veins ;   and  could'st  thou  sip, 
Nor  poison  turn  to  honey  on  thy  lip? 
What  man  so  hard  could  mix  the  draught  for  thee,    * 
Or  bid  be  mix'd,  nor  feel  thy  melody  ? 

Sicilian  Muses,  pour  the  dirge  of  woe  ; 
But  retribution  sure  will  deal  the  blow : 
I,  in  this  trance  of  grief,  still  drop  the  tear, 
And  mourn  forever  o'er  thy  livid  bier  ; 
Oh  that  as  Orpheus,  in  the  days  of  yore, 
Ulysses,  or  Alcides,  pass'd  before, 
I  could  descend  to  Pluto's  house  of  night, 
And  mark  if  thou  would'st  Pluto's  ear  delight, 
And  listen  to'  the  song :   oh  then  rehearse 
Some  sweet  Sicilian  strain,  Bucolic  verse ; 
To  soothe  the  maid  of  Enna's  vale,  who  sang 
These  Doric  songs,  while  ^Etna's  upland  rang. 
Not  unrewarded  shall  thy  ditties  prove  : 
As  the  sweet  harper  Orpheus,  erst  could  move 
Her  breast  to  yield  his  dear  departed  wife, 
Treading  the  backward  road  from  death  to  life ; 
So  shall  he  melt  to  Bion's  Dorian  strain, 
And  send  him  joyous  to  his  hills  again. 
Oh  could  my  touch  command  the  stops  like  thee, 
I  too  would  seek  the  dead,  and  sing  thee  free. 

To  this  exquisite  elegy  on  Bion,  we  add  the  following  brief  pieces  : 

ALPHEUS   AND  ARETHUSA. 

From  where  his  silver  waters  glide 
Majestic,  to  the  ocean-tide 

Through  fair  Olympia's  plain, 
Still  his  dark  course  Alpheus  keeps 
Beneath  the  mantle  of  the  deeps, 

Nor  mixes  with  the  main. 

To  grace  his  distant  bride,  he  pours 
The  sand  of  Pisa's  sacred  shores, 

And  flowers  that  deck'd  her  grove : 
And,  rising  from  the  unconscious  brine. 
On  Arethusa's  breast  divine 

Receives  the  meed  of  love.  • 

'Tis  thus  with  soft  bewitching  skill 

The  childish  god  deludes  our  wilL 

And  triumphs  o'er  our  pride; 


224  NICANDER.  [LECT.  IX. 


The  mighty  river  owns  his  force, 
Bends  to  the  sway  his  winding  course, 
And  dives  beneath  the  tide. 

THE  CONTRAST. 

O'er  the  smooth  main,  -when  scarce  a  zephyr  blows 

To  break  the  dark-blue  ocean's  deep  repose, 

I  seek  the  calmness  of  the  breathing  shore, 

Delighted  with  the  fields  and  woods  no  more. 

But  when,  white-foaming,  heave  the  deeps  on  high, 

Swells  the  black  storm,  and  mingles  sea  with  sky. 

Trembling,  I  fly  the  wild  tempestuous  strand, 

And  seek  the  close  recesses  of  the  land. 

Sweet  are  the  sounds  that  murmur  through  the  wood, 

While  roaring  storms  upheave  the  dang'rous  flood; 

Then,  if  the  winds  more  fiercely  howl,  they  rouse 

But  sweeter  music  in  the  pine's  tall  boughs. 

Hard  is  the  life  the  weary  fisher  finds 

"Who  trusts  his  floating  mansion  to  the  winds, 

Whose  daily  food  the  fickle  sea  maintains, 

Unchanging  labor,  and  uncertain  gains. 

Be  mine  soft  sleep,  beneath  the  spreading  shade, 

Of  some  broad  leafy  plane,  inglorious  laid, 

Lull'd  by  a  fountain's  fall,  that,  murmuring  near, 

Soothes,  not  alarms,  the  toil-worn  laborer's  ear. 

A  MOTHER  LAMENTING  HER  CHILDREN. 

But  as  a  bird  bewails  her  callous  brood,  - 

While  in  the  brake  a  serpent  drains  their  blood, 

And,  all  too  weak  the  wished  relief  to  bring, 

Twittering  her  shrill  complaints  on  feeble  wing 

At  distance  hovers,  nor  will  venture  near 

The  fell  destroyer,  chill'd  with  conscious  fear; 

So  I,  all  frantic,  the  wide  mansion  o'er, 

Unhappy  mother,  my  lost  sons  deplore. 

Nicander,  a  contemporary  of  the  two  poets  last  noticed,  but  whose  ge- 
nius strikingly  contrasted  with  theirs,  was  born  at  the  small  town  of 
Glares,  near  Colophon,  in  Ionia,  about  195  A.C.  He  was  the  son  of 
Damnaeus,  one  of  the  hereditary  priests  of  Apollo  Clarius,  to  which  dig- 
nity Nicander  himself  succeeded.  He  was  a  physician  and  grammarian, 
as  well  as  poet,  and  flourished  under  Attains,  king  of  Pergamus,  by  whom 
he  was  highly  esteemed,  and  particularly  patronized ;  but  of  the  history 
of  his  life  nothing  is  farther  known. 

Nicander  was  a  very  voluminous  writer,  but  confined  the  efforts  of  his 
muse  chiefly  to  medical  subjects.  He,  however,  composed  historical  poems 
on  Colophon,  ^Etna,  Sicily,  and  various  other  places.  But  of  his  numerous 
literary  performances  nothing  now  remains  excepting  two  medical  poems 


195  A.O.]  fflCANDER.  225 

The  longest  of  these  poems  is  entitled  Theriaca,  and  contains  nearly  a 
thousand  hexameter  lines.  It  treats  of  venomous  animals,  and  the  wounds 
inflicted  by  them,  and  contains  some  curious  and  interesting  zoological 
passages,  together  with  numerous  absurd  fables.  His  other  remaining 
poem,  on  poisons  and  their  cures,  is  also  written  in  hexameter  verse,  and 
contains  more  than  six  hundred  lines.  These  works  •  are  now  read  only 
by  the  curious ;  but  both  they  and  their  author  must  have  been  very  pop- 
ular with  the  ancients,  as  there  is  a  Greek  epigram  still  extant,  compli- 
menting Colophon  on  being  the  birth-place  of  Homer  and  Nicander. 

Didactic  poetry,  the  strain  in  which  Nicander  uniformly  wrote,  what- 
ever may  be  its  subject,  naturally  pleases,  inasmuch  as  it  forms  so  many 
poetical  species  or  varieties,  and  amuses  by  the  novel  lights  in  which 
it  exhibits  the  plastic  genius  of  poetry.  Thus,  poems  on  hunting  and 
fishing  were  always  favorite  exercises  of  fancy  with  the  ancients ;  and  even 
herbs  and  simples  appear  early  to  have  attracted  the  attention  of  poets! 
A  work  of  this  kind  is  numbered  among  the  lost  poems  of  Hesiod ;  but 
it  must  be  remembered  that  in  his  day,  there  was  no  other  vehicle  than 
verse  for  every  subject  of  memory  and  instruction.  But  the  poems  of 
Nicander  are  too  limited  in  their  scope,  and  of  too  physically  unpleasant 
a  nature,  to  afford  a 

'  Wreath  to  bind  the  Muses'  brow.' 

There  is,  however,  in  his  descriptions  of  the  various  reptiles,  a  vivacity 
that  attracted  Virgil's  notice,  and  probably  suggested  to  Lucan  his  ser- 
pents of  the  desert,  that  infested  the  way  of  Cato ;  but  his  account  of  vul- 
nerary herbs  resembles  a  botanical  nomenclature ;  and  his  catalogue  of 
symptoms  and  of  remedies  a  ( Domestic  Medicine'  in  verse.  As  curiosi- 
ties we  subjoin  the  following  passages : 


OF  THE  SERPENT  CERASTES. 

FROM    THE    ANTIDOTES. 

Now  may'st  thou  learn  the  subtle  horned  snake, 
That  steals  upon  thee,  viperous  in  his  make. 
But  while  the  viper's  forehead  maim'd  appears, 
Horns,  two  or  four,  the  bold  Cerastes  rears. 
Lean,  dun  of  hue,  the  snake  in  sands  is  laid, 
Or  haunts  within  the  trench  that  wheels  have  made. 
Against  thee  strait  on  onward  spires  he  rides, 
And  with  long  path,  on  trailing  belly  glides: 
But  sidelong,  tottering,  rolls  his  middle  track. 
And  winds  his  crooked  "way,  and  twines  his  scaly  back 
As  with  long  stern,  some  galley  cleaves  the  tide, 
"Wavering  with  gusts,  and  dips  its  diving  side; 
While,  as  the  vessel  cuts  its  channel'd  way, 
Dash'd  on  the  wind  recoils  the  scatter'd  spray. 
15 


226  TYMNES.  [LECT.  IX. 

When  bites  the  serpent,  strait  the  puncture  round 

A  callous  tumor,  like  a  nail,  is  found: 

And  livid  pustules,  large  as  drops  of  rain, 

Spread  round  the  bite;  of  dull,  and  faintish  stain, 

Feeble  the  smart;   but,  when  nine  suns  have  shone, 

The  agonizing  symptoms  hasten  on. 

In  whom  the  horny  snake,  with  deed  malign, 

Has  flesh'd  his  tooth,  that  foams  with  rage  canine, 

The  loins  and  knees  a  restless  pain  invades, 

And  the  whole  skin  is  streaked  with  purplish  shades. 

Scarce  lingers  in  his  frame  the  laboring  breath, 

And  scarce  he  struggles  from  the  toils  of  death. 


FROM  THE  COUNTER-POISONS. 

Be  quick  with  aid,  when  yew-tree  juice  with  pains 

Of  anguish-thrilling  potion  whelms  the  veins ; 

The  tongue  is  under-swoll'n ;  the  lips  protrude 

In  heavy  tumors,  with  dry  froth  bedew'd : 

The  gums  are  cleft;  the  heart  quick  tremor  shakes: 

Smit  with  the  bane,  the  laboring  reason  quakes. 

He  utters  bleating  sounds;   and  furies  vain 

With  thousand  turns,  delirious,  cross  his  brain. 

He  shrieks  like  one  who  sees,  with  anguish'd  dread, 

Life-threatening  swords  near-brandish'd  at  his  head. 

As  Rhea's  chalice-bearing  pi'iestess  flies 

Beneath  the  new  moon,  and  with  long,  loud  cries, 

Whirls  o'er  the  smoking  plain,   on   Ida's  hill 

The  shepherds  tremble  at  her  howlings-shrill : 

So  yells  his  frenzied  rage ;   his  eyeballs  roam, 

Bull-like,  askance;  his  teeth  are  gnash'd  in  foam. 

Him  fast  with  many-twisted  bonds  confine ; 

And  drench  him  deep  with  draughts  of  luscious  wine, 

And  gently  stimulate  his  throat,  to  throw 

The  poison  off,  with  forced,  ejected  flow. 

An  unfledged  gosling  may  the  symptoms  tame, 

In  water  sodden  o'er  the  brightening  flame. 

The  rinds  of  apples  will  relief  bestow; 

Clean  pears,  that  wild  upon  the  mountains  grow; 

Or  those  that,  planted  in  an  orchard's  shades, 

Bloom  hi  spring  hours,  and  charm  the  roving  maids. 

During  the  half  century  that  elapsed  between  the  period  of  Nicander 
and  that  of  Meleager,  a  number  of  epigrammatic  poets  flourished,  the 
principal  of  whom  were  Tymnes,  Polystratus,  Antipater  of  Sidon,  and 
Archias  of  Antioch ;  but  for  these  we  have  only  a  passing  remark. 

Tymnes,  or  as  his  name  is  sometimes  erroneously  written,  Tymnseus,  is 
supposed,  by  Reiske,  to  have  been  a  native  of  Crete ;  but  the  exact 
period  of  his  birth  is  uncertain.  There  are  seven  of  his  epigrams  in  the 


150A.C.]  POLYSTRATUS.— ANTIPATER.  227 

Greek  Anthology,  all  of  which  are  remarkable  for  their  beautiful  sim- 
plicity.    We  give  the  following  as  samples  : 

ON  ONE   WHO  DIED  IN  A  FOREIGN  COUNTRY. 

Grieve  not,  Philaenis,  though  condemned  to  die 

Far  from  thy  parent  soil,  and  native  sky ; 

Though  strangers'  hands  must  raise  thy  funeral  pile, 

And  lay  thine  ashes  in  a  foreign  isle : 

To  all  on  death's  last  dreary  journey  bound, 

The  road  is  equal,  and  alike  the  ground. 


SPARTAN    VIRTUE. 

Demetrius,  when  he  basely  fled  the  field, 
A  Spartan  born,  his  Spartan  mother  kill'd ; 
Then,  stretching  forth  his  bloody  sword,  she  cried, 
(Her  teeth  fierce  gnashing  with  disdainful  pride,) 
'  Fly,  cursed  offspring,  to  the  shades  below, 
Where  proud  Eurotas  shall  no  longer  flow 
For  timid  hinds  like  thee! — Fly,  trembling  slave, 
Abandoned  wretch,   to  Pluto's  darkest  cave  ! 
Myself  so  vile  a  monster  never  bore, 
Disown'd  by  Sparta,  thou'rt  my  son  no  more.' 

Polystratus,  according  to  Stephanus  Byzantinus,  was  a  native  of  Leto- 
polis,  in  Egypt;  but  of  his  history  nothing  farther  is  known.  The 
Greek  Anthology  contains  two  of  his  epigrams,  one  of  which,  the  follow- 
ing, is  on  the  destruction  of  Corinth,  which  took  place  146  A.C.  He 
therefore  probably  lived  about  150  A.  C. 


ON  THE  DESTRUCTION  OF   CORINTH. 

Achaean  Acrocorinth,  the  bright  star 

Of  Hellas,  with  its  narrow  Isthmian  bound, 
Lucius  o'ercame ;   in  one  enormous  mound 

Piling  the  dead,  conspicuous  from  afar. 

Thus  to  the  Greeks  denying  funeral  fires, 
Have  great  ^Eneas'  latest  progeny 
Perform'd  high  Jove's  retributive  decree, 

And  well  avenged  the  city  of  their  sires. 

Antipater  was  descended  from  a  noble  and  wealthy  family  of  Sidon,  and, 
according  to  a  passage  in  Cicero's  de  Oratoribus,  third  book,  he  was  con- 
temporary with  Quintus  Catullus,  who  flourished  1 03  A.C.  Cicero  notices 
the  extraordinary  facility  with  which  Antipater  would  pour  forth  extem- 
pore verses ;  and  from  the  many  minute  references  made  to  him  by 
Meleager,  who  also  wrote  his  epitaph,  we  infer  that  he  must  have  been  a 


228  ANTIPATER.  [LECT.  IX. 

very  considerable  personage.  He  lived  to  a  very  great  age,  and  was  the 
author  of  numerous  epigrams,  contained  in  the  Greek  Anthology,  of 
which  we  give  the  following  : 


ON  ORPHEUS. 

No  more,  sweet  Orpheus  I   shalt  thou  lead  along 
Oaks,  rocks,  and  savage  monsters  with  thy  song, 
Fetter  the  winds,  the  struggling  hail-storm  chain, 
The  snowy  desert  soothe,  and  sounding  main  j 
For  thou  art  dead ; — the  Muses  o'er  thy  bier, 
Sad  as  thy  parent,  pour  the  tuneful  tear. 
Weep  we  a  child  ? — Not  e'en  the  gods  can  save 
Their  glorious  offspring  from  the  hated  grave. 


ON  HOMER'S  BIRTH-PLACE. 

From  Colophon  some  deem  thee  sprung, 
From  Smyrna  some,  and  some  from  Chios; 

These,  noble  Salamis  have  sung, 

While  those  proclaim  thee  born  in  loa ; 

And  others  cry  up  Thessaly 

The  mother  of  the  Lapithse. 

Thus  each  to  Homer  has  assign'd 

The  birth-place  just  which  suits  his  mind. 

But,  if  I  read  the  volume  right, 
By  Phoebus  to  his  followers  given, 

I  'd  say  they  're  all  mistaken  quite, 
And  that  his  real  country's  heaven; 

While  for  his  mother,  she  can  be 

No  other  than  Calliope. 


ON  SAPPHO. 

Does  Sappho  then  beneath  thy  bosom  rest, 
JSolian  earth! — that  mortal  Muse  confest 
Inferior  only  to  the  choir  above, 
That  foster-child  of  Venus  and  of  Love, 
Warm  from  whose  lips  divine  Persuasion  came 
To  ravish  Greece  and  raise  the  Lesbian  name? 
0  ye!  who  ever  twine  the  three-fold  thread, 
Te  Fates,  why  number  with  the  silent  dead 
That  mighty  songstress,  whose  unrivall'd  powers 
Weave  for  the  Muse  a  crown  of  deathless  flowers. 


140  A.C.]  ANTIPATER.  229 

ON  ERINNA. 

Few  -were  thy  notes,  Erinna, — short  thy  lay, — 

But  thy  short  lay  the  Muse  herself  hath  given; 
Thus  never  shall  thy  memory  decay, 

Nor  night  obscure  the  fame,  which  lives  in  heaven; 
While  we,  the  unnumbered  bards  of  after-times, 

Sink  in  the  melancholy  grave  unseen, 
Unhonored  reach  Avernus'  fabled  climes, 

And  leave  no  record  that  we  once  have  been. 


ON  ANACREON. 

Grow,  clustering  ivy,  where  Auacreon  lies  ; 
There  may  soft  buds  from  purple  meadows  rise ; 
Gush,  milky  springs,  the  poet's  turf  to  lave, 
And  fragrant  wine  flow  joyous  from  his  grave ! 
Thus  charm'd,  his  bones  shall  press  the  narrow  bed 
If  aught  of  pleasure  ever  reach  the  dead. 
In  these  delights  he  soothed  his  age  above, 
His  life  devoting  to  the  lyre  and  love. 


ON  PINDAR. 

As  the  loud  trumpet  to  the  goatherd's  pipe, 

So  sounds  thy  lyre,  all  other  sounds  surpassing; 
Since  round  thy  lips,  in  infant  fullness  ripe, 

Swarm  honied  bees,  their  golden  stores  amassing. 
Thine  Pindar  !   be  the  palm, — by  him  decreed 

Who  holds  on  Msenalus  his  royal  sitting; 
Who,  for  thy  love,  forsook  his  simple  reed, 

And  hymns  thy  lays  in  strains  a  god  befitting. 


THE  WIDOW'S   OFFERING. 

To  Pallas,  Lysistrata  offered  her  thimble 
And  distaff,  of  matronly  prudence  the  symbol : 
*  Take  this,  too,'  she  said ;   '  then  farewell,  mighty  queen  1 
I'm  a  widow,  and  just  forty  winters  have  seen  ; 
So  thy  yoke  I  renounce,  and  henceforward  decree 
To  live  with  Love's  goddess,  and  prove  that  I'm  free. 


THE  HONEST  SHEPHERD. 

When  hungry  wolves  had  trespass'd  on  the  fold. 
And  the  robb'd  shepherd  his  sad  story  told, 
'  Call  in  Alcides,'  said  a  crafty  priest, 
'Give  him  one  half,  and  he'll  secure  the  rest.' 


230  ARC  HI  AS.  [LECT.  IX. 

' No'  said  the  shepherd,  ' if  the  Fates  decree, 
By  ravaging  my  flock,  to  ruin  me, 
To  their  commands  I  willingly  resign ; 
Power  is  their  character,  and  patience  mine : 
Though,  'troth,  to  me  there  seems  but  little  odds 
Who  prove  the  greatest  robbers. — wolves  or  gods.' 

Archias  was  born  at  Antioch  in  Syria,  about  120  A.C.,  but  early  re- 
moved to  Rome,  and  became  a  citizen  of  that  republic.  At  Rome  he 
lived  for  many  years  on  intimate  terms  with  some  of  the  first  families  of 
the  city,  particularly  with  the  Lucinii,  whose  name  he  adopted.  His 
reception  during  a  journey  through  Asia  Minor  and  Greece,  and  after- 
wards in  Grecian  Italy,  where  Tarentum,  Rhegium,  Naples  and  Locri 
enrolled  him  upon  their  registers,  shows  that  his  reputation  was,  at  least 
at  that  time,  very  considerable. 

Archias'  principal  poems  appear  to  have  been  heroic  odes  in  honor  of 
Marius,  Sylla,  Metellus,  Lucullus,  and  other  distinguished  Roman  gene- 
rals of  that  period ;  in  which  he  especially  celebrated  their  many  great 
and  important  victories.  Of  these  poems  the  ode  on  the  Cimbric  war,  in 
celebration  of  the  important  victory  which  Marius  gained  over  the  vast 
hords  of  the  rude  Cimbri,  is  said  to  have  been  the  best.  He  also  wrote 
many  such  epigrams  as  those  which  follow.  Both  Cicero  and  Quintilian 
inform  us  that  Archias  had  the  gift  of  making  good  extempore  verses  in 
great  numbers,  and  was  remarkable  for  the  richness  of  his  language  and 
his  varied  range  of  thought : 

LIFE  AND  DEATH. 

Thracians !   who  howl  around  an  infant's  birth, 
And  give  the  funeral  hour  to  songs  of  mirth. 
Well  in  your  grief  and  gladness  are  exprest, 
That  Life  is  labor,  and  that  Death  is  rest. 


ON  .A  SHIPWRECKED  MARINER. 

I,  Theris,  wreck'd  and  cast  a  corse  on  shore, 

Still  shudder  at  old  Ocean's  ceaseless  roar. 

For  here,  beneath  the  cliff's  o'ershadowing  gloom, 

Close  by  its  waves  have  strangers  dug  my  tomb. 

Hence  still  its  roaring,  reft  of  life,  I  hear ; 

Its  hateful  surge  still  thunders  in  my  ear, 

For  me  alone,  by  Fate  unrespited, 

Remains  no  rest  to  soothe  me — even  though  dead. 


ON  AN  OLD   RACE  HORSE. 

Me,  at  Alphaeus  wreath'd,  and  twice  the  theme 
Of  heralds,  by  Castalia's  sacred  stream, — 


96  A.C.]  MELEAGER.  231 

Me,  Isthmus*  and  Nemsea's  trumpet-tongue 
Hailed  fleet  as  winged  storms  1 — I  then  was  young. 
Alas!   wreaths  loathe  me  now;  and  Eld  hath  found 
An  outcast  trundling  mill  stones  round  and  round. 

Meleager,  the  son  of  Eucrates,  was  a  native  of  Gadara,  in  Palestine, 
and  was  born  about  96  A.C.  He  nourished  under  Seleucus,  the  last 
king  of  Syria,  and  his  general  place  of  residence  was  the  city  of  Tyre, 
where  he  passed,  almost  exclusively,  the  early  part  of  his  life.  But  he 
was  at  length  driven  from  that  city  by  the  wars  which  the  Romans  were 
then  carrying  on  in  the  East,  and  retired  to  the  island  of  Cos,  where  he 
passed,  in  comparative  seclusion  and  devotion  to  study,  the  remainder  of 
his  life. 

Meleager  was  an  extensive  and  celebrated  writer,  and  the  Greek  An- 
thology contains  one  hundred  and  thirty-one  of  his  epigrams'  written  in  a 
good  Greek  style,  though  somewhat  affected.  He  professed  to  have 
formed  his  style  upon  that  of  the  satirical  prosaic  poet  Menalippus ;  but 
in  the  soft  and  tender  effusions  of  his  muse  which  have  been  handed  down 
to  us,  there  is  no  resemblance  to  the  severe  satirist :  on  the  contrary,  all 
is  singularly  delicate  and  fanciful. 

Meleager,  though  a  writer  of  much  elegance,  is  still  more  remarkable 
for  being  the  father  of  the  Greek  Anthologies,  than  for  his  original  po- 
etry. These  Anthologies  are  collections  of  small  poems,  chiefly  epi- 
grams, of  various  authors.  Many  of  the  pieces  are  remarkable  for  their 
beauty  and  simplicity  in  thought,  and  their  peculiar  turns  of  expression. 
The  earliest  of  these  collections  was  made  just  at  the  time  when  Greek 
literature  began  sensibly  to  decline.  Several  of  them  were  made  before 
the  fall  of  Carthage,  but  seem  to  have  been  formed  with  more  reference 
to  the  historical  value  of  the  inscriptions,  than  to  their  poetical  merit. 
Of  this  class  was  the  collection  of  Polemo  Periegetes,  which  is  now 
entirely  lost. 

The  earliest  collection  of  such  poems,  brought  together  and  preserved, 
for  their  intrinsic  merit,  was  that  of  Meleager  to  which  we  have  just 
alluded.  It  was  made  about  60  A.C.,  was  entitled  the  Crown,  or  Gar- 
land, and  contained  the  better  pieces  of  forty-six  poets,  arranged  in 
alphabetical  order.  The  second  of  these  collections,  with  the  same 
arrangement,  was  made  by  Philippus  of  Thessalonica,  in  the  time  of 
Trajan.  Soon  after,  under  Adrian,  about  120  A.D.,  a  collection  of 
choice  pieces  was  formed  by  Diogenianus  of  Heraclea ;  and  about  one 
hundred  years  afterwards,  Diogenes  Laertius  gathered,  in  various  metres, 
a  body  of  epigrams  composed  in  honor  of  illustrious  men. 

A  third  Anthology  was  published  in  the  sixth  century  by  Agathias  of 
Myrina,  and  consisted  of  seven  books,  into  which  the  pieces  were  distrib- 
uted according  to  their  subjects.  In  the  tenth  century  a  fourth  collec- 
tion was  made  by  Constantine  Cepkalas,  of  whom  nothing  more  is 


232  MELEAGER.  [LKCT.  IX. 

known ;  and  in  the  fourteenth  century  Maximus  PZanudes,  a  monk  of 
Constantinople,  the  same  who  collected  the  fables  of  J3sop,  formed  a 
fifth  Anthology.  Planudes  arranged  the  pieces  included  in  his  collection 
in  seven  distinct  books. 

The  two  last-mentioned  collections  are  the  only  Anthologies  now  ex- 
tant ;  but  they,  doubtless,  embrace  the  principal  contents  of  all  the  rest. 
To  Meleager,  however,  as  the  originator  of  this  method  of  preserving 
the  fugitive  poetry  of  Greece  from  oblivion,  we  are  chiefly  indebted  for 
most  of  it  that  remains ;  and  the  following  pieces  show  that  he  was  him- 
self a  very  sweet  poet : 


THE  RETURN  OP  SPRING. 

Hush'd  is  the  howl  of  wintry  breezes  wild ; 
The  purple  hour  of  youthful  spriug  has  smiled: 
A  livelier  verdure  clothes  the  teeming  earth; 
Buds  press  to  life,  rejoicing  in  their  birth; 
The  laughing  meadows  drink  the  dews  of  night, 
And,  fresh  with  opening  roses,  glad  the  sight : 
In  song  the  joyous  swains  responsive  vie ; 
Wild  music  floats,  and  mountain  melody. 

Adventurous  seamen  spread  the  embosomed  sail 
O'er  waves  light  heaving  to  the  western  gale ; 
While  village  youths  their  brows  with  ivy  twine, 
And  hail  with  song  the  promise  of  the  vine. 

In  curious  cells  the  bees  digest  their  spoil, 
When  vernal  sunshine  animates  their  toil, 
And  little  birds,  in  warblings  sweet  and  clear, 
Salute  thee,  Maia,  loveliest  of  the  year : 
Thee,  on  their  deeps  the  tuneful  halcyons  hail, 
In  streams  the  swan,  in  wbods  the  nightingale. 

If  earth  rejoices,  with  new  verdure  gay, 
And  shepherds  pipe,  and  flocks  exulting  play, 
And  sailors  roam,  and  Bacchus  leads  his  throng, 
And  bees  to  toil,  and  birfls  awake  to  song, 
Shall  the  glad  bard  be  mute  hi  tuneful  spring, 
And,  warm  with  love  and  joy,  forget  to  sing. 


SONG. 

Still,  like  dew  in  silence  falling, 
Drops  for  thee  the  nightly  tear; 

Still  that  voice,  the  past  recalling, 
Dwells,  like  echo,  on  mine  ear, 
Still,  still! 

Day  and  night  the  spell  hangs  o'er  me; 
Here,  forever  fixed  thou  art ; 


96  A.C.]  MELEAGER.  233 

As  thy  form  first  shone  before  me, 
So  'tis  graven  on  this  heart, 
Deep,  deepl 

Love,  oh  love,  whose  bitter  sweetness 

Dooms  me  to  this  lasting  pain ; 
Thou,  who  cam'st  with  so  much  fleetness, 

Why  so  slow  to  go  again? 
Why?  why? 


THE  DIN  OF  LOVE. 

'Tis  love,  that  murmurs  in  my  breast, 
And  makes  me  shed  the  secret  tear; 

Nor  day  nor  night  my  heart  has  rest, 
For  night  and  day  his?  voice  I  hear. 

A  wound  within  my  heart  I  find, 

And  oh  1  'tis  plain  where  Love  has  been, 

For  still  he  leaves  a  wound  behind, 
Such  as  within  my  heart  is  seen. 

O  bird  of  love  1  with  song  so  drear, 
Make  not  my  soul  the  nest  of  pain! 

Oh,  let  the  wing  that  brought  thee  here, 
In  pity  waft  thee  hence  again. 


TO  HIS  MISTRESS  SLEEPING. 

Thou  sleep'st,  soft  silken  flower  1    Would  I  were  sleep, 
Forever  on  those  lids  my  watch  to  keep  1 
So  would  I  have  thee  all  mine  own,— or  he, 
Who  seals  Jove's  wakeful  eyes,  my  rival  be. 


THE  VOW. 

In  holy  night  we  made  the  vow ; 

And  the  same  lamp,  which  long  before 
Had  seen  our  early  passion  grow; 

Was  witness  to  the  faith  we  swore. 

Did  I  not  swear  to  love  her  ever; 

And  have  I  ever  dared  to  rove? 
Did  she  not  own  a  rival  never 

Should  shake  her  faith,  or  steal  her  love  ? 

Yet  now  she  says  those  words  were  air, 
Those  vows  were  written  all  in  water; 

And  by  the  lamp  that  heard  her  swear, 
Had  yielded  to  the  first  that  sought  her. 


234  MELEAGER.  ILECT.  IX. 


THE  COMPARISON. 

The  snowdrop  peeps  from  every  glade, 
The  gay  narcissus  proudly  glows, 

The  lily  decks  the  mountain  shade, 

Where  blooms  my  fair — a  blushing  rose. 

Ye  meads !  why  vainly  thus  display 
The  buds  that  grace  your  vernal  hour  ? 

For  see  ye  not  my  Zoe  stray, 

Amidst  your  sweets,  a  sweeter  flower. 


THE   GIFTS  OF  THE  GRACES. 

The  Graces,  smiling,  saw  her  opening  charms, 
And  clasped  Arista  in  their  lovely  arms. 
Hence  her  resistless  beauty ;  matchless  sense ; 
The  music  of  her  voice ;  the  eloquence, 
That,  e'en  in  silence,  flashes  from  her  face, 
All  strikes  the  ravished  heart — for  all  is  grace: 
List  to  my  vows,  sweet  maid !  or  from  my  view 
Far,  far  away,  remove  1     In  vain  I  sue ; 
For,  as  no  space  can  check  the  bolts  of  Jove, 
No  distance  shields  me  from  the  shafts  of  Love. 


MUSIC  AND  BEAUTY. 

By  the  God  of  Arcadia,  so  sweet  are  the  notes 
Which  tremulous  fall  from  my  Rhodope's  lyre; 

Such  melody  swells  in  her  voice,  as  it  floats 
On  the  soft  midnight  air,  that  my  soul  is  on  fire. 

Oh  where  can  I  fly  I    The  young  Cupids  around  me 

Gaily  spread  their  light  wings,  all  my  footsteps  pursuing; 

Her  eyes  dart  a  thousand  fierce  lustres  to  wound  me, 
And  music  and  beauty  conspire  my  undoing. 


THE  SAILOR'S   RETURN. 

Help,  help,  my  friends ! — Just  landed  from  the  main — 

New  to  its  toils,  and  glad  to  feel  again 

The  firm  rebounding  soil  beneath  my  feet 

Love  marks   his   prey,   and  with    enforcement  sweet 

Waving  his  torch  before  my  dazzled  eyes, 

Drags  me  to  where  my  queen  of  beauty  lies. 

Now  on  her  steps  I  tread — and  if  in  air 

My  fancy  roves,  I  view  her  picture  there, 


96  A. 0.]  MELEAGER.  035 

Stretch  my  fond  arms  to  fold  her,  and  delight 
With  unsubstantial  joys  my  ravish'd  sprite. 
Ah !  vainly  'scaped  the  fearful  ocean's  roar, 
To  prove  a  fiercer  hurricane  on  shore. 


NIOBE. 

Daughters  of  Tantalus,  lorn  Niobe, 

Sad  are  the  tidings  which  I  bear  to  thee, — 

Words  fraught  with  woe: — aye,  now  unbind  thy  hair, 

The  streaming  signal  of  thy  wild  despair : 

For  Phosbus'  darts,  grief-pointed,  reek  with  gore, 

Alas  1   alas  1   thy  sons  are  now  no  more. 

But  what  is  this?     What  means  this  oozing  flood? 

Her  daughters,  too,  are  weltering  in  their  blood. 

One  clasps  a  mother's  knees;   one  clings  around 

Her  neck ;  and  one  lies  prostrate  on  the  ground ; 

One  seeks  her  breast ;  one  eyes  the  coming  woe 

And  shudders ;   one  in  tremor,  crouches  low ; 

The  seventh  is  breathing  out  her   latest  sigh, 

And  life-in-death  seems  flickering  from  that  eye. 

She — the  woe-stricken  mother,  reft,  alone ; 

Erst  full  of  words — is  now  mute,  stiffened  stone. 


THE   MORNING  STAR. 

Farewell  bright  Phosphor,  herald  of  the  morn ! 
Yet  soon  in  Hesper's  name  again  be  born  — 
By  stealth  restoring,  with  thy  later  ray, 
The  charms  thine  early  radiance  drove  away. 


EPITAPH  ON  A  YOUNG   BRIDE. 

Not  Hymen, — it  was  Ades*  self  alone 
That  loosened  Clearista's  virgin  zone: 
And  now  the  evening  flutes  are  breathing  round 
Her  gate ;  the  closing  nuptial  doors  resound. 
The  morning  spousal  song  was  raised — but  oh  1 
At  once  'twas  silenced  into  threnes  of  woe ; 
And  the  same  torches,  which  the  bridal  bed 
Had  lit,  now  showed  the  pathway  to  the  dead. 


EPITAPH  ON  HELIODORA. 

Tears,  Heliodora  1  on  thy  tomb  I  shed, 
Love's  last  libation  to  the  shades  below ; 

Tears,  bitter  tears,  by  fond  remembrance  fed  ; 
Are  all  that  Fate  now  leaves  me  to  bestow. 


236  PHILODEMITS.  [LKCT.  IX. 

Vain  sorrows  1  vain  regrets !  yet.  loveliest  thee, 

Thee  still  they  follow  in  the  silent  urn, 
Retracing  hours  of  social  converse  free, 

And  soft  endearments  never  to  return. 

How  thou  art  torn,  sweet  flower,  that  smiled  so  fair  1 
Torn,  and  thy  honor'd  bloom  with  dust  defil'd; 

Yet,  holy  Earth,  accept  my  suppliant  prayer, 
And  in  a  mother's  arms  enfold  thy  child. 


EPITAPH  ON  AESIGENES. 

Hail,  universal  mother !  lightly  rest 

On  that  dead  form, 
"Which  when  with  life  invested,  ne'er  opprest 

Its  fellow  worm. 


EPITAPH  ON  MELEAGER  OF  GADARA. 

.     Tyre  was  my  island-nurse — an  Attic  race 
I  boast,  though  Gadara  my  native  place, — 
Herself  an  Athens.     Eucrates  I  claim 
For  sire,  and  Meleager  is  my  name. 
From  childhood,  in  the  Muse  was  all  my  pride: 
I  sang ;  and  with  Menippus,  side  by  side, 
Urged  my  poetic  chariot  to  the  goal. 

And  why  not  Syrian? — to  the  free-born  soul  * 

Our  country  is  the  world;  and  all  on  earth 
One  universal  chaos  brought  to  birth. 
Now  old,  and  heedful  of  th'  approaching  doom ; 
These  lines  in  memory  of  my  parted  bloom, 
I  on  my  picture  trace,  as  on  my  tomb. 

With  Meleager  all  that  is  interesting  in  the  poetry  of  ancient  Greece 
ends ;  though  for  nearly  six  centuries  after  his  death,  Greek  poets  at 
intervals  appeared,  whose  names  some  fragment,  epitaph,  or  epigram, 
has  preserved  from  oblivion.  To  such  poets,  therefore,  we  shall  only 
very  briefly  allude.  Philodemus,  Crinagoras,  Zonas  of  Sardis,  Antipha- 
lus,  Leonidas  of  Alexandria,  and  Philip,  the  second  collector  of  epigrams, 
and  Antipater,  both  of  Thessalonica,  all  had  their  birth  before  the  com- 
mencement of  the  Christian  era. 

Philodemus  was  a  native  of  Gadara,  but  removed  in  early  life  to 
Athens,  and  afterwards  to  Rome,  where  he  soon  became  intimate  with 
Piso,  and  as  an  expression  of  his  admiration  for  that  nobleman,  he  wrote 
the  following 


60A.D.]  ANTIPHILUS.  23Y 


INVITATION  TO  THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF  EPICURUS. 

To-morrow,  Piso,  at  the  evening  hour, 

Thy  friend  will  lead  thee  to  his  simple  bower, 

To  keep  with  feast  our  annual  twentieth  night: 
If  there  you  miss  the  flask  of  Chian  wine, 
Yet  hearty  friends  you'll  meet,  and,  while  you  dine, 

Hear  strains  like  those  in  which  the  gods  delight. 
And,  if  you  kindly  look  on  us  the  while, 
We'll  reap  a  richer  banquet  from  thy  smile. 

Crinagoras  was  a  native  of  Mitylene,  and  flourished  at  the  courts  of 
Augustus  and  Tiberius ;  but  no  fragment  of  his  poetry  is  important  to 
our  purpose. 

Zonas  also  flourished  at  the  court  of  Tiberius ;  but  of  his  history  we 
have  no  farther  particulars.  He  has  left  us,  among  other  fragments  of 
his  poetry,  the  following  beautiful  lines : 


ON  A  SHIPWRECKED  MARINER. 

Accept  a  grave  in  these  deserted  sands, 
That  on  thy  head  I  strew  with  pious  hands; 
For  to  these  wintry  crags  no  mother  bears 
The  decent  rites,  or  mourns  thee  with  her  tears. 

Yet  on  the  frowning  promontory  laid, 
Some  pious  dues,  Alexis,  please  thy  shade ; 
A  little  sand  beside  the  sounding  wave, 
Moisten'd  with  flowing  tears,  shall  be  thy  grave. 


Antiphilus  was  a  native  of  Byzantium,  and  flourished  during  the  reign 
of  Nero,  as  appears  from  one  of  his  epigrams,  in  which  he  mentions  tne 
favor  conferred  by  that  emperor  upon  the  island  of  Rhodes.  His  epi- 
grams, more  than  forty  of  which  are  still  extant,  are  of  a  high  order 
of  merit,  both  in  conception  and  style.  The  following  is  extremely 
beautiful : 

ON  AN  ANCIENT  OAK. 

Hail,  venerable  boughs,  that  in  mid  sky, 
Spread  broad  and  deep  your  leafy  canopy  1 
Hail,  cool,  refreshing  shade,  abode  most  dear 
To  the  sun-wearied  traveller,  wand'ring  near ! 
Hail,  close   inwoven   bow'rs,  fit  dwelling  place 
For  insect  tribes,  and  man's  imperial  racel 
Me  too,  reclining  in  your  green  retreat, 
Shield  from  the  blazing  day's  meridian  heat. 


238  ANTIPATER.  [LECT.  IX. 

Leonidas  was  born,  as  he  himself  informs  us,  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile, 
whence  he  went  to  Rome,  and  there  taught  grammar  for  many  years, 
without  attracting  any  notice ;  but  at  length  he  became  very  popular,  and 
obtained  the  patronage  of  the  imperial  family.  His  epigrams,  which  are 
generally  very  inferior  in  point  of  merit,  show  that  he  nourished  under 
the  reign  of  Nero,  and  probably  down  to  that  of  Vespasian.  Several  of 
them  possess  this  remarkable  peculiarity — each  distich  contains  the  same 
number  of  letters. 

Philip  and  Antipater  were  both  epigrammatic  poets  of  very  considerable 
pretensions.  The  former,  though  the  author  of  numerous  epigrams,  is, 
however,  more  celebrated  as  a  collector  of  epigrams  than  as  a  writer. 
The  'Anthology  of  Philip  is  in  imitation  of  that  of  Meleager,  and  may  be 
considered  as  a  sort  of  supplement  to  it.  The  collection  contains  chiefly 
the  epigrams  of  those  poets  who  lived  in,  or  shortly  before,  the  time  of 
Philip  himself — commencing  with  Philodemus,  who,  as  we  have  already 
observed,  was  contemporary  with  Cicero,  and  ending  with  Automedon, 
who  is  supposed  to  have  flourished  under  Nero. 

Antipater  flourished  during  the  latter  part  of  the  reign  of  Augustus, 
through  that  of  Tiberius,  and  for  some  time  after  the  accession  of  Cali- 
gula. His  epigrams  are  usually  more  important  than  beautiful,  as  many 
of  them,  such  as  the  following,  have  preserved  names  and  circumstances 
of  great  interest : 

GREEK  POETESSES. 

These  the  maids  of  heavenly  tongue, 
Rear'd  Pierian  cliffs  among: 
Anyte,  as  Homer  strong, 
Sappho,  star  of  Lesbian  song; 
Erinna,  famous  Telesilla, 
«  Myro  fair,  and  fair  Praxilla; 

Corinna,  she  that  sung  of  yore, 
The  dreadful  shield  Minerva  bore. 
Myrtis  sweet,  and  Nossis,  known 
For  tender  thought  and  melting  tone  ; 
Framers  all  of  deathless  pages, 
Joys  that  live  for  endless  age's: 
Nine  the  Muses  famed  in  heaven, 
And  nine  to  mortals  earth  has  given. 

After  the  commencement  of  the  Christian  era,  the  annals  of  literature 
present  about  twenty-five  Grecian  poets,  some  of  whom  attained  to  very 
considerable  eminence ;  but  as  the  design  of  the  present  lectures  confines 
our  investigations  to  the  history  of  Grecian  literature  previous  to  that 
era,  we  must  necessarily  omit  any  farther  notice  of  such  poets  than  the 
simple  record  of  their  names. 


100  A.D.]  GREEK    POETS.  239 

The  first  Christian  century  produced  Parmenion,  Onestus,  Tulliu8 
Geminus,  ^Emilianus  Nicaeus,  Marcus  Argentarius,  and  Xenocrates  of 
Rhodes. 

Parmenion  was  a  native  of  Macedonia,  and  of  his  epigrams  fourteen 
remain.  These  are  characterized  by  brevity,  which  he  himself  declares 
that  he  aimed  at ;  but  unfortunately  they  want  the  body,  of  which  brev- 
ity is  said  to  be  the  soul — wit. 

Onestus,  a  Corinthian,  was  also  an  epigrammatic  poet,  ten  of  whose 
epigrams  have  been  preserved.  Wine,  love,  and  music,  are  the  subjects 
of  which  they  treat ;  but  none  of  them  are  distinguished  for  any  particular 
beauty. 

Tullius  Geminus  whose  native  place  is  unknown,  has  ten  epigrams  in 
the  Anthology,  most  of  which  are  descriptions  of  works  of  art,  and  all  are 
written  in  a  very  affected  manner. 

^Emilianus  Nicaeus  was  a  native  of  the  town  of  Nicaea,  but  nothing 
farther  is  known  of  him. ,  Three  of  his  epigrams  haVe  been,  preserved. 

Marcus  Argentarius  was  the  author  of  about  thirty  of  the  epigrams  in 
the  Greek  Anthology,  most  of  which  are  erotic,  and  some  are  plays  on 
words.  Nothing  farther  is  known  of  him  than  the  age  in  which  he  lived. 

Xenocrates  of  Rhodes  was  the  author  of  the  following  exquisite  epi- 
jram  in  the  Greek  Anthology ;  but  nothing  farther  is  known  of  him. 


ON  A  DAUGHTER  DROWNED   AT  SEA. 

Cold  on  the  wild  wave  floats  thy  virgin  form, 

Drench'd  are  thine  auburn  tresses  by  the  storm, 

Poor  lost  Eliza  1   in  the  raging  sea, 

Gone  was  my  every  joy  and  hope  with  thee ! 

These  sad  recording  stones  thy  fate  deplore, 

Thy  bones  are  wafted  to  some  distant  shore ; 

What  bitter  sorrows  did  thy  father  prove, 

Who  brought  thee,  destined  for  a  bridegroom's  love  ! 

Sorrowing  he  came — nor  to  'the  youth  forlorn 

Consign'd  a  maid  to  love,  or  corpse  to  mourn. 

In  the  second  century  we  have  Lucian,  Dionysius,  Strato,  Philostratus, 
Carphyllides,and  Rufinus. 

Lucian,  a  witty  and  voluminous  Greek  writer,  but  of  Syrian  parentage, 
having  been  born,  as  he  himself  informs  us,  at  Samosata,  the  capital  of 


240  GREEK    POETS.  [LECT.  IX. 

Commagene.  His  works  embraced,  almost  every  variety  of  composition, 
including  Rhetoric,  Criticisms,  .Biography,  Romances,  Dialogues,  Mis- 
cellanies, and  Poems,  including  all  varieties,  from  a  tragedy  to  an 
epigram.  He  was  of  poor  parents,  and  commenced  life  as  a  sculptor ; 
but  leaving  his  original  employment  he  turned  his  attention  to  study,  and 
attained  to  a  degree  of  eminence  not  inferior  to  many  of  the  early  Greek 
writers. 

Dionysius  was  the  author  of  a  number  of  minor  poems,  some  of  which 
are  of  very  considerable  merit,  particularly  a  hymn  to  Apollo. 

Philostratus  flourished  at  the  court  of  the  emperor  Severus,  and  is 
chiefly  memorable  for  being  the  author  of  the  original  poem  from  which 
Ben  Jonson  borrowed  his  celebrated  ballad  *  To  Celia' — 

Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes,  <fcc. 

Strato  was  a  native  of  Sardis ;  and  besides  forming  an  Anthology  out 
of  the  works  of  earlier  poets,  he  was  an  extensive  writer  of  epigrams 
himself.  Some  of  his  own  epigrams  are  very  elegant ;  but  nothing  can 
redeem  the  disgrace  that  attaches  to  the  moral  character  of  his  compila- 
tion. 

Rufinus  was  the  author  of  thirty-eight  of  the  epigrams  in  the  Greek 
Anthology,  all  of  which  are  of  a  character  strikingly  similar  to  those  of 
Strato. 

Carphyllides  was  the  writer  of  two  very  elegant  epigrams  still  pre- 
served in  the  Greek  Anthology,  the  former  of  which  follows ;  but  of  the 
author  we  have  no  farther  knowledge  : 


ON  A  HAPPY  OLD  MAN. 

Think  not,  whoe'er  thou  art,  my  fate  severe; 
Nor  o'er  my  marble  stop  to  shed  a  tear ! 
One  tender  partner  shared  my  happy  state, 
And  all  that  life  imposes,  but  its  weight. 
Three  lovely  girls  in  nuptial  ties  I  bound, 
And  children's  children  smiled  my  board  around. 
And  often  pillow'd  on  their  grandsire's  breast, 
Their  darling  offspring  sunk  to  sweetest  rest. 
Disease  and  death  were  strangers  to  my  door, 
Nor  from  my  arms  one  blooming  infant  tore. 
All,  all  survived,  my  dying  eyes  to  close, 
And  hymn  my  spirit  to  a  blest  repose. 


The  third  and  fourth  centuries  afford  us  only  Lucillius,  Gregory  of 
Nazianzus,  Julian,  Prefect  of  Egypt,  and  Palladas. 


300A.D.]  GREEK    POETS.  241 

Lucillius,  was  the  author  of  numerous  epigrams,  no  less  than  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  of  those  preserved  in  the  Greek  Anthology  being  at- 
tributed to  him.  They  are  nearly  all  sportive  in  their  character,  and 
many  of  them  are  aimed  at  the  grammarians,  who  at  that  time  abounded 
in  Rome. 

Gregory  of  Nazianzus  was  a  native  of  Cappadocia,  and  became  first, 
bishop  of  Sasima,  and  afterwards  of  Nazianzus.  His  writings  were  very 
numerous,  and  embraced  Treatises  on  doctrinal  theology,  Treatises  on 
practical  Christianity,  Sermons,  Letters,  Biographies,  and  Poems.  '  The 
title  of  Saint,'  says  Gibbon,  *  has  been  added  to  his  name ;  but  the  tender- 
ness of  his  heart,  and  the  elegance  of  his  genius,  reflect  a  more  pleasing 
lustre  on  his  memory.' 

Julian,  Prefect  of  Egypt,  was  the  author  of  seventy-one  epigrams, 
written  in  imitation  of  earlier  Greek  poems  of  the  same  kind.  They  are 
mostly  of  a  descriptive  character,  and  generally  refer  to  works  of  art. 

Palladas  wrote  a  large  number  of  epigrams  preserved  in  the  Greek 
Anthology,  the  real  characteristic  of  which  is  a  sort  of  elegant  mediocrity. 
The  following  may  serve  as  a  specimen  of  the  whole : 


ALL  THE   WORLD'S  A  STAGE. 

This  life  a  theatre  we  well  may  call, 

Where  every  actor  must  perform  with  art, 

Or  laugh  it  through,  and  make  a  farce  of  all, 
Or  learn  to  bear  with  grace  his  tragic  part. 

In  the  fifth  century  we  have  Musaeus,  Agathias,  Macedonius,  Paul  the 
Silentiary,  Marianus  Scholasticus,  and  Democharis. 

Mus&us  was  the  author  of  a  very  celebrated  Greek  poem  on  the  loves 
of  Hero  and  Leander ;  but  of  his  personal  history  nothing  is  known  far- 
ther than  that  his  profession  was  that  of  grammarian,  or,  as  we  should 
now,  with  more  propriety,  style  it,  a  professor  of  Belles  Lettres.  The 
poem  itself  is  of  such  rare  merit,  and  has  so  much  of  the  air  of  antiquity, 
that  the  elder  Scaliger  supposed  it  to  be  the  work  of  the  ancient  Athe- 
nian bard. 

Agathias  was  the  son  of  Mamnonius,  a  rhetorician,  and  was  born  at 
Myrina,  a  town  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  Pythicus,  in  Aeolia,  537  A.D. 
He  studied  literature  at  Alexandria,  but  afterwards  removed  to  Con- 
stantinople, where  he  devoted  the  rest  of  his  life  to  the  practice  of  the 
law.  Besides  numerous  poems  of  partial  merit,  Agathias  wrote  the  his- 

16 


242  GREEK    POETS.  [LKCT.  IX. 

tory  of  six  years  of  the  reign  of  Justinian — a  work  of  very  great  intrin- 
sic merit.  He  was  also,  as  we  have  already  observed,  the  collector  of 
one  of  the  most  valuable  of  the  Greek  Anthologies. 

Macedonius  was  a  native  of  Thessalonica,  and  is  mentioned  by  Suidas 
as  a  contemporary  of  Agathias.  The  Anthology  contains  forty-three  of 
his  epigrams,  most  of  which  are  of  an  erotic  character,  and  in  an  elegant 
style.  Macedonius  was  surnamed  the  Consul. 

Paul  the  Silentiary,  held  an  office  in  the  Court  of  Justinian  corre- 
sponding to  that  of  gentleman  usher.  He  was  a  courtier  and  voluptu- 
ary ;  and  though  a  man  of  genius,  his  poetry  all  partakes  of  his  character 
and  habits. 

Marianus  Scholasticus  was  the  writer  of  five  of  the  epigrams  in  the 
Greek  Anthology,  four  of  which  are  descriptions  of  the  groves  and  baths 
of  Eros,  in  the  suburbs  of  Amasea  in  Pontus,  and  are  remarkable  for 
the  delicacy  of  their  descriptions.  Marianus  also  wrote  paraphrases  of 
the  poems  of  Theocritus,  Aratus,  and  other  poets  of  the  Alexandrian 
school. 

Democharis,  an  epigrammatic  poet,  was  professionally  a  grammarian, 
and  was  a  disciple  of  Agathias;  but  of  his  history  nothing  more  is 
known.  He  was  the  author  of  the  following  beautiful  epigram — a  fit 
theme  with  which  to  close  our  remarks  on  this  department  of  Grecian 
literature : 

ON  THE  PICTURE  OF  SAPPHO. 

Nature  herself  this  magic  portrait  drew, 
And  painter  1   gave  thy  Lesbian  muse  to  view. 
Light  sparkles  in  her  eyes ;    and  Fancy  seems 
The  radiant  fountain  of  those  living  beams: 
Through  the  smooth  fulness  of  the  unclouded  skin 
Looks  out  the  clear  ingenuous  soul  within; 
Joy  melts  to  fondness  in  her  glistening  face, 
And  Love  and  Music  breathe  a  mingled  grace. 


tilt 


DRAMATIC  POETRY. 

EPIC  AND  DRAMATIC  POETRY  COMPARED.— ORIGIN  OF  THE  DR^MA. 
— THESPIS.— PHRYNICHUS.— CHCEBILUS.— PRATINUS.— ^ESCHYLtts. 

fTVHE  spirit  of  an  age  is,  generally,  completely  and  faithfully  repre- 
_L  sented  by  its  poetry :  hence  the  epic  poetry  of  the  Greeks  belongs  to 
a  period  when,  during  the  continuance  of  monarchical  institution^,  the 
minds  of  the  people  were  impregnated  with,  and  swayed  by,  legends 
handed  down  from  antiquity.  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Lyric  poetry  arose 
in  the  more  stirring  and  agitated  times  which  accompanied  the  develop- 
ment of  republican  governments — times  in  which  each  individual  gave 
vent  to  his  personal  desires  and  wishes,  and  all  the  depths  of  the  nunian 
heart  were  unlocked  by  poetic  inspirations.  Hence,  at  the  summit  of 
Greek  civilization,  at  the  very  prime  of  Athenian  power  and  freedom,  we 
see  dramatic  poetry  spring  up  as  the  organ  of  the  prevailing  thoughts  and 
feelings  of  the  nation,  and  throw  all  other  varieties  of  poetry  entirely 
into  the  shade. 

The  essjince  of  the  drama  is  activity  and  energy.  It  is  not  enough, 
as  is  the  case  with  the  other  departments  of  poetry,  to  describe  it  as  a 
poem,  in  which  characters  speak,  not  the  poet ;  for  this  is  the  case  in 
mere  dialogue,  in  which  no  effect  is  to  be  produced,  nor  catastrophe  to 
be  brought  about.  In  epic  poetry  we  never  forget  that  the  characters 
belong  to  another  age — one,  perhaps,  long  gone  by.  We  feel  an  interest 
in  what  they  do  and  what  they  suffer,  but  only  such  an  interest  as  we 
should  feel  in  historical  characters.  The  train  of  incidents  follow  one 
another  in  calm,  quiet,  and  regular  order ;  the  action  stops  at  intervals, 
that  the  scene  and  the  locality  may  be  described.  The  attention  is 
divided,  as  it  were,  between  animate  and  inanimate  nature.  But  in  dra- 
matic poetry  the  spectator  throws  himself  into  the  midst  of  the  events 
which  are  represented  before  his  eyes.  He  makes  one  of  the  characters ; 
he  seems  to  have  a  share  in  their  fortunes,  just  as  he  would  have  in  real 
life  ;  he  cannot  believe  that  it  is  not  a  reality.  The  scene,  the  dresses, 


244  DRAMATIC    POETRY.  [LECT.  X. 

the  human  voice,  the  gestures,  all  combine  to  realize  it  to  him;    and 
hence  he  actively  sympathizes,  instead  of  being  only  passively  moved. 

Dramatic  poetry,  as  the  name  plainly  declares,  represents  actions 
which  are  not,  as  in  the  epic,  merely  narrated.  They  seem  to  take 
place  before  the  eyes  of  the  spectator ;  and  yet  this  external  appearance 
is  not  sufficient  to  constitute  the  essential  difference  between  dramatic 
and  epic  poetry;  for,  since  these  events  do  not  really  happen  at  the 
moment  of  their  representation — since  the  speech  and  actions  of  the  per- 
sons in  the  drama  are  only  a  fiction  of  the  poet,  and,  when  successful,  an 
illusion  to  the  spectator,  it  would  follow  that  the  whole  difference  turned 
upon  a  mere  deception. 

The  essence  of  this  style  of  poetry  has,  however,  a  much  deeper 
source.  It  is  found  in  the  state  of  the  poet's  mind,  engrossed  in  the 
contemplation  of  his  subject.  The  epic  poet  seems  to  regard  the  events 
which  he  relates,  from  afar,  as  objects  of  calm  contemplation  and  admira- 
tion. He  is  always  conscious  of  the  great  interval  between  him  and 
them ;  while  the  dramatic  poet  plunges  with  his  entire  soul  into  the 
fountain  of  human  life,  and  seems  himself  to  experience  the  events  which 
he  exhibits  to  our  view.  The  reason  of  this  is,  that,  in  the  drama,  actions, 
as  they  rise  out  of  the  depths  of  the  human  heart,  are  represented  as 
completely  and  as  naturally  as  if  they  originated  in  his  own  breast ;  and 
the  effect  of  the  actions  and  fortunes  of  the  personages  upon  the  sym- 
pathies of  other  persons  in  the  drama  itself,  is  exhibited  with  such  force, 
that  the  listener  feels  himself  constrained  to  similar  sympathy,  and  to 
be  powerfully  attracted  by  the  events  of  the  drama. 

From  these  considerations  it  appears  that  the  drama  bears  a  similar 
relation  to  epic  poetry  that  sculpture  bears  to  historical  painting.  It  is, 
perhaps,  upon  the  whole,  a  severer  art.  It  rejects  many  adventitious 
aids  of  which  the  epic  may  avail  itself.  It  has  more  unity  and  sim- 
plicity ;  its  figures  stand  out  more  boldly  and  in  stronger  relief ;  but 
then  it  has  no  aerial  background ;  it  has  no  perspective  of  enchantment ; 
it  cannot  draw  so  largely  on  the  imagination  of  the  spectator :  it  must 
present  to  the  eye,  and  make  palpable  to  the  touch,  what  the  epic  poet 
may  steep  in  the  rainbow-hues  of  fancy,  and  veil,  but  with  a  veil  of  light, 
woven  in  the  looms  of  his  imagination.  The  epic  comprises  narration 
and  description,  and  yet  must  be,  in  many  respects,  essentially  dramatic. 
The  epic  poet  is  the  dramatic  author  and  actor  combined.'  The  fine 
characteristic  speech  which  Milton  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Moloch,  in  the 
Second  Book  of  Paradise  Lost,  proves  him  to  have  been  possessed  of 
high  powers  of  dramatic  writing ;  and  when,  after  the  speech  is  concluded, 
the  poet  adds : 


527  A.C.]  DRAMATIC    POETRY.  245 

He  ended  frowning,  and  his  look  denounced 
Desperate  revenge,  and  battle  dangerous 
To  less  than  gods,  — 

he  personates  the  character  with  a  power  and  energy  worthy  of  the 
noblest  actor. 

We  have  already  remarked  that  the  epic  poet  is  the  dramatist  and 
the  actor  combined  ;  but  he  is  still  more.  He  must  not  only  write  the 
dialogue  and  create  the  actors  who  are  to  utter  it,  but  he  must  also  erect 
the  stage  on  which  they  are  to  tread,  and  paint  the  scenes  in  which  they 
are  to  appear.  Still  the  drama,  by  the  very  circumstances  which  attend 
it,  and  circumscribe  its  powers,  becomes  capable  of  exciting  a  more  in- 
tense and  tremendous  interest.  Hence,  there  are  pieces  of  dramatic 
writing  which,  even  in  the  perusal  only,  have  an  overwhelming  power  to 
which  epic  poetry  cannot  attain.  Of  this,  the  third  act  of  Othello,  and 
the  dagger-scene  in  Macbeth,  may  be  adduced  as  instances. 

Perhaps,  to  sum  up  the  whole  question,  what  the  epic  poet  gains  in 
expansion  and  variety,  the  dramatic  poet  gains  in  condensation  and  inten- 
sity. When  Desdemona  says  to  Othello  — 

—  and  yet  I  fear 
When  your  eyes  roll  so,  — 

we  have  as  vivid  a  portraiture  of  the  Moor's  countenance  as  the  most 
elaborate  description  could  give  us.  Such  a  description  would  be  meagre 
and  unsatisfactory  in  epic  poetry  :  more  diffuse  ones  would  mar  the  inter- 
est and  impede  the  action  of  the  drama.  In  the  drama  the  grand  pivot 
upon  which  'the  whole  moves  is  action;  in  epic  poetry  it  is  narration. 
Narration  is  the  fitter  medium  for  representing  a  grand  series  of  events  ; 
and  action,  for  exhibiting  the  power  and  progress  of  a  passion,  or  the 
consequences  of  an  incident.  Hence,  the  siege  of  Troy,  and  >the  loss  of 
Paradise,  are  epic  subjects;  and  the  chaining  of  Prometheus,  and  the 
jealousy  of  Othello,  are  dramatic  ones.  The  epic  poet  takes  the  loftier 
flight  ;  the  dramatic  treads  with  the  firmer  step.  The  one  dazzles,  the 
other  touches  us.  The  epic  is  wondered  at  ;  the  dramatic  is  felt.  We 
lift  the  successful  author  of  the  former  like  a  conqueror  above  our  heads, 
but  clasp  the  latter,  as  a  brother  to  our  hearts. 

From  these  general  remarks  upon  the  relation  that  epic  and  dramatic 
poetry  bear  to  each  other,  we  pass  to  notice  the  origin  of  the  drama. 

The  Greek  drama  evidently  originated  in  the  satyric  worship  of  the 
gods,  and  particularly  in  that  of  Bacchus.  Indeed,  in  that  worship  are 
found  many  dramatic  elements.  The  gods  were  supposed  to  dwell  in 
their  temples,  and  participate  in  their  festivals  ;  and  it  was  not  consid- 


246  DRAMATIC    POETRY.  [LECT.  X. 

ered  presumptuous  or  unbecoming  to  represent  them  as  acting  like  human 
beings.  The  Eleusinian  mysteries  were,  as  Clemens  of  Alexandria  ex- 
presses it,  nothing  else  than  a  l  mystical  drama,'  in  which  the  history  of 
Demeter  and  Core  was  acted,  like  a  play,  by  priests  and  priestesses, 
though  probably  only  in  mimic  action,  illustrated  by  a  few  significant  sen- 
tences of  a  symbolic  nature,  and  by  the  singing  of  hymns.  These  repre- 
sentations did  not,  however,  assume  a  distinct  dramatic  feature  until  535 
A.C.,  when  Thespis,  a  native  of  Icaria,  a  small  village  near  Athens,  by 
banishing  the  rude  satyrs  of  Boeotia,  and  introducing  a  single  speaker  in 
connection  with  the  lyric  chorus,  laid  the  foundation  of  that  tragic  drama 
whose  triumphs  run  parallel  with  the  glory  and  splendor  of  Athens — - 
commencing  just  before  the  beginning  of  the  contest  between  the  Greeks 
and  the  Persians,  and  ending  with  the  downfall  of  Athens  at  the  close  of 
the  Peloponnesian  war. 

Before  the  commencement  of  the  Persian  war,  however,  the  Athenians 
had  been  rendered  familiar  with  the  poems  of  Homer  by  Pisistratus ;  and 
this  event,  combined  with  other  causes,  such  as  the  foundation  of  a  public 
library,  the  erection  of  public  buildings,  and  the  institution  of  public  gar- 
dens, combined  to  create,  with  apparent  suddenness,  among  a  susceptible 
and  lively  population,  a  general  cultivation  of  taste.  The  citizens  were 
brought  together  in  their  hours  of  relaxation  by  their  urbane  and  social 
manners  of  life,  under  porticos  and  in  gardens,  which  it  was  the  policy  of 
a  graceful  and  benignant  tyrant  to  inculcate ;  and  the  native  genius,  hith- 
erto dormant,  of  the  quick  Ionian  race,  once  awakened  to  literary  and  in- 
tellectual objects,  created  an  audience  even  before  it  found  expression  in 
a  poet.  .  The  elegant  effeminacy  of  Hipparchus  contributed  to  foster  the 
taste  of  the  people ;  for  the  example  of  the  great  is  nowhere  more  potent 
over  the  multitude  than  in  the  cultivation  of  the  arts.  Anacreon  and 
Simonides  introduced  among  the  Athenians  by  Hipparchus,  and  enjoying 
his  friendship,  doubtless  added  largely  to  the  influence  which  poetry  now 
began  to  assume.  The  peculiar  sweetness  of  these  poets  imbued  with 
harmonious  contagion  the  genius  of  the  first  of  the  Athenian  dramatists, 
whose  works,  unfortunately,  are  now  lost,  though  abundant  evidence  of 
their  character  is  preserved. 

About  the  same  time  the  Athenians  must  necessarily  have  been  made 
more  intimately  acquainted  with  the  various  wealth  of  the  lyric  poets  of 
Ionia  and  the  Grecian  islands.  Hence,  their  models  in  poetry  were  of  two 
kinds — the  epic  and  the  lyric ;  and  in  the  natural  connections  of  art,  it  was 
but  the  next  step  to  accomplish  a  species  of  poetry  which  should  attempt 
to  unite  the  two.  Happily  at  this  period,  Athens  possessed  a  man  of  true, 
genius  in  the  person  of  Phrynichus  the  poet,  whose  attention  early  circum- 
stances had  directed  to  the  rude  and  primitive  order  of  histrionic  recita- 
tions. Phrynichus  was  a  disciple  of  Thespis,  and  to  him  belongs  the  honor 
of  conceiving,  out  of  the  elements  of  the  broadest  farce,  the  first  grand 


525  A.C.]  DRAMATIC    POETRY.  247 

combinations  of  the  tragic  drama.  We  are  not  from  this,  however,  to 
conclude  that  poetry  and  music  were  now,  for  the  first  time,  dedicated  to 
religious  services ;  for,  from  time  immemorial,  as  far  back,  perhaps,  as 
the  grove  possessed  an  altar,  and  the  waters  supplied  a  reed  for  the  pas- 
toral pipe,  they  had  been  devoted  to  the  worship  of  the  gods  of  Greece. 
At  the  appointed  season  of  festival  to  each  several  deity,  his  praises  were 
sung,  and  his  traditionary  achievements  were  recited. 

One  of  the  divinities  last  introduced  into  Greece,  the  mystic  and  enig- 
matical Bacchus,  received  the  popular  and  enthusiastic  adoration  natu- 
rally due  to  the  god  of  the  vineyard,  and  the  '  unbinder  of  galling  cares.' 
His  festival,  celebrated  at  the  vintage,  the  most  joyous  of  agricultural 
seasons,  was  always  connected  with  the  most  exhilarating  associations, 
Dithyrambs,  or  wild  and  exulting  songs,  at  first  extemporaneous,  cele- 
brated the  triumphs  of  the  god.  By  degrees  the  rude  hymn  swelled  into 
prepared  and  artful  measures,  performed  by  a  chorus  and  dance  circling 
round  the  altar ;  and  the  wild  song  assumed  a  lofty  and  solemn  strain, 
adapted  to  the  sanctity  of  sacrifice  and  the  emblematic  majesty  of  the 
god.  At  the  same  time  another  band,  connected  with  a  Phallic  proces- 
sion, which,  however  outwardly  obscene,  betokened  only,  at  its  origin,  the 
symbol  of  fertility,  and  betrayed  the  philosophy  of  some  alien  or  eastern 
creed,  implored,  in  more  lively  and  homely  strains,  the  blessing  of  the 
prodigal  and  jovial  deity.  These  ceremonial  songs  received  a  wanton  and 
wild  addition ;  as  in  order,  perhaps,  more  closely  to  represent  and  per- 
sonify the  motley  march  of  the  Liber  Pater,  the  chorus-singers  borrowed 
from  the  vine-browsing  goat  which  they  sacrificed,  the  hides  and  horns, 
that  furnished  forth  the  merry  mimicry  of  the  satyr  and  the  forum. 

Under  licence  of  this  disguise  the  songs  became  more  obscure  and 
grotesque,  and  the  mummers  vied  with  each  other  in  obtaining  the  ap- 
plause of  the  rural  audience,  by  wild  buffoonery  and  unrestrained  jest. 
Whether  as  the  prize  of  the  winner,  or  as  the  object  of  sacrifice,  the 
goat  or  tragos  was  a  sufficiently  important  personage  to  bestow  upon  the 
exhibition  the  homely  name  of  tragedy  or  goat-song,  destined  afterwards 
to  be  exalted  by  association  with  the  proudest  efforts  of  human  genius. 
And  while  the  dithyramb,  yet  amid  the  Dorian  tribes,  retained  the  fire 
and  dignity  of  its  hereditary  character — while  in  Sicyon  it  rose  in  stately 
and  mournful  measures  to  the  memory  of  Adrastus,  the  Argive  hero — 
while  in  Corinth,  under  the  polished  rule  of  Periander,  Arion  imparted' 
to  the  antique  hymn  a  new  character  and  more  scientific  music — gradu- 
ally, in  Attica,  it  gave  way  before  the  familiar  and  fantastic  humors  of 
the  satyrs,  sometimes  abridged  to  afford  greater  scope  to  their  exhibi- 
tions, and  sometimes  attracting  the  contagion  of  their  burlesques.  Still, 
however,  we  must  observe  that  the  tragedy,  or  goat-song,  consisted  of  two 
parts — the  exhibition  of  the  mummers,  and  the  dithyrambic  chorus,  mov- 
ing in  a  circle  round  the  altar  of  Bacchus. 


248  DRAMATIC    POETRY.  [LECT.  X. 

It  appears  on  the  whole  most  probable,  that  not  only  this  festive  cere- 
monial, but  also  its  ancient  name  of  tragedy,  had  long  been  familiar  in 
Attica,  when  Thespis  surpassed  all  competitors  in  the  exhibition  of  these 
rude  entertainments.  He  relieved  the  monotonous  pleasantries  of  the 
satyric  chorus  by  introducing,  usually  in  his  own  person,  a  histrionic  tale- 
teller, who,  from  an  elevated  platform,  and  with  lively  gesticulations,  enter- 
tained the  audience  with  some  mythological  legend.  It  was  so  clear  that 
during  this  recital  the  chorus  remained  unnecessarily  idle  and  superfluous 
— that  the  next  improvement  was  as  natural  in  itself  as  it  was  important 
in  its  consequences.  This  was  to  make  the  chorus  assist  the  narrator,  by 
occasional  questions  or  remarks. 

Thespis  improved  the  choruses  themselves  in  their  professional  art. 
He  invented  dances,  which  for  centuries  retained  their  popularity  on  the 
stage,  and  is  supposed  to  have  given  histrionic  disguise  to  his  reciter — 
at  first,  by  the  application  of  pigments  to  the  face — and  afterwards,  by 
the  construction  of  a  rude  linen  mask.  These  improvements,  chiefly 
mechanical,  form  the  limit  to  the  achievements  of  Thespis.  He  did  much 
to  create  a  stage,  but  little  to  create  tragedy,  in  the  proper  sense  of  the 
term.  His  performances  were  still  of  a  rude,  ludicrous,  and  homely  char- 
acter, and  much  more  akin  to  the  comic  than  to  the  tragic.  Of  that 
which  makes  the  essence  of  the  solemn  drama  of  Athens — its  stately  plot, 
its  gigantic  images,  its  prodigal  and  sumptuous  poetry — of  these  Thespis 
was  not  in  any  way  the  inventor. 

But  Phrynichus,  the  disciple  of  Thespis,  was  a  poet.  He  saw,  though 
perhaps  dimly  and  imperfectly,  the  new  career  opened  to  the  art ;  and 
he  may  be  said  to  have  breathed  the  immortal  spirit  into  the  more 
mechanical  forms,  when  he  introduced  poetry  into  the  breasts  of  the 
chorus  and  the  monologue  of  the  actors.  Whatever  else  Phrynichus 
effected  is  uncertain.  The  developed  plot — the  introduction  of  regular 
dialogue  through  the  medium  of  a  second  actor — the  pomp  and  circum- 
stance— the  symmetry  and  climax  of  the  drama,  do  not  appear  to  have 
appertained  to  his  earlier  efforts ;  and  the  great  artistical  improvements, 
which  raised  the  simple  incident  to  an  elaborate  structure,  of  depicted 
narrative  and  awful  catastrophe,  are  ascribed  not  to  Phrynichus,  but  to 
JEschylus.  If  the  later  works  of  Phrynichus  exhibited  these  excellences, 
it  is  because  .ZEschylus  had  then  become  his  rival,  and  he  caught  the 
heavenly  light  from  the  new  star  which  was  now  destined  to  eclipse  him. 

But  everything  essential  was  done  for  the  Athenian  stage  when  Phyrn- 
ichus  took  it  from  the  satyrs  and  placed  it  under  the  protection  of  the 
Muse — when,  forsaking  the  humors  of  the  rustic  farce,  he  selected  a  sol- 
emn subject  from  the  serious  legends  of  the  most  vivid  of  all  mythologies 
— when  he  breathed  into  the  familiar  measures  of  the  chorus  the  gran- 
deur and  sweetness  of  the  lyric  ode — when,  in  a  word,  taking  nothing  from 
Thespis  but  the  stage  and  the  performers,  he  borrowed  his  tale  from  Ho- 


525  A.C.]  DRAMATIC    POETRY.  249 

mer,  and  his  melody  from  Anacreon.  We  must  not,  then,  suppose  that 
the  contest  for  the  goat,  and  the  buffooneries  of  Thespis,  were  the  real 
origin  of  tragedy.  Born  of  the  epic  and  lyric  song,  Homer  gave  it  char- 
acter, and  the  lyrists  language.  Thespis  and  his  predecessors  only  sug- 
gested the  form  to  which  the  new-born  poetry  should  be  applied. 

Thus,  under  Phrynichus,  the  drama  rose  into  poetry  worthy  to  exer- 
cise its  influence  upon  poetic  emulation,  when  a  young  man  of  noble  fam- 
ily and  sublime  genius,  rendered,  perhaps,  more  thoughtful  and  ^profound 
by  the  cultivation  of  a  mystical  philosophy  which  had  recently  emerged 
from  the  primitive  schools  of  Ionian  wisdom,  brought  to  the  rising  art 
the  united  dignity  of  rank,  philosophy,  and  genius.  The  youth  to  whom 
we  here  allude  was  .ZEschylus ;  but  before  we  proceed  to  a  farther  notice 
of  his  history  and  character,  we  shall  here  briefly  describe  his  audiences, 
and  the  form  and  construction  of  the  magnificent  theatre  in  which  his 
august  dramas  were  exhibited. 

The  Athenian  stage,  at  first  an  itinerant  platform,  was  succeeded  by  a 
regular  theatre  of  wood,  and  this  wooden  structure,  by  a  splendid  stone 
edifice,  which  is  said  to  have  been  sufficiently  capacious  to  accommodate 
an  audience  of  thirty  thousand  persons.     The  theatrical  representations  i 
therein  conducted,  became  a  matter  of  national  and  universal  interest,  I 
and  occiirreu  thrice  a  year,  at  three  several  festivals  of  Bacchus.     But  it    * 
was  at  the  great  Dionysia,  held  at  the  end  of  March  and  the  beginning 
of  April,  that  the  principal  tragic  contests  took  place.     At  that  period, 
as  the  Athenian  drama  increased  in  celebrity,  and  Athens  herself  in  re- 
nown, the  city  was  filled  with  visitors,  not  only  from  all  parts  of  Greece, 
but  also  from  every  land  in  which  the  Greek  civilization  was  known. 

The  State  took  the  theatre  under  its  own  protection  as  a  solemn  and 
sacred  institution,  and  so  anxious  were  the  people  to  consecrate  wholly 
to  the  Athenian  name  the  glory  of  the  spectacle,  that  at  the  great  Dion- 
ysia no  foreigner  was  permitted  to  dance  in  the  Chorus.  The  chief  Ar- 
chon  presided  over  the  performances,  and  to  him  was  awarded  the  selec- 
tion of  the  candidates  for  the  prize.  Those  chosen  were  allowed  three 
actors  by  lot,  and  a  chorus,  the  expense  of  which  was  undertaken  by  the 
State,  and  imposed  upon  one  of  the  principal  persons  of  each  tribe,  called? 
choragus.  The  immense  theatre;  crowded  by  thousands,  tier  above  tier, 
bench  upon  bench,  was  open  to  the  heavens,  and  commanded,  from  the , 
sloping  hill  on  which  it  was  built,  the  land  and  the  sea.  The  actor  apos- 
trophised no  mimic  pasteboard,  but  the  wide  expanse  of  Nature  herself — 
the  living  sun,  the  mountain  air,  and  the  wide  and  visible  .ZEgean.  All 
was  proportioned  to  the  gigantic  scale-  of  the  theatre,  and  the  mighty 
range  of  the  audience.  The  form  was  artificially  enlarged  and  height- 
ened, masks  of  exquisite  art  and  beauty  brought  before  the  audience  the 
idea  of  their  sculptured  gods  and  heroes,  while  mechanical  inventions 
carried  the  tones  of  the  voice  throughout  the  various  tiers  of  the  theatre. 


' 


50  DRAMATIC    POETRY.  [LECT.  X. 


The  exhibition  of  dramas  among  the  Greeks  took  place  in  the  open 
day,  and  the  limited  length  of  the  plays  permitted  the  performance  of  no 
less  than  ten  or  twelve  before  the  setting  of  the  sun.  The  sanctity  of 
their  origin,  and  the  mythological  nature  of  their  stories,  added  some 
thing  of  religious  solemnity  to  these  spectacles,  which  were  opened  by  cer- 
emonial sacrifices.  Dramatic  exhibitions,  at  least  for  a  considerable 
period,  were  not,  as  at  present,  made  hackneyed  by  constant  repetition. 
They  were  as  rare  in  their  occurrence  as  they  were  imposing  in  their 
effects;  nor,  unless  as  a  special  favor,  was  a  drama,  whether  tragic  or 
comic,  that  had  gained  a  prize,  permitted  a  second  time  to  be  exhibited. 

With  regard  to  the  disposition  of  the  audience  in  this  vast  theatre,  it 
may  be  remarked,  that,  on  the  lower  benches  of  the  semicircle  sat  the 
archons  and  magistrates,  the  senators  and  priests ;  while  apart,  but  on 
seats  equally  honorable,  the  gaze  of  the  audience  was,  from  time  to  time, 
attracted  to  the  illustrious  strangers  whom  the  fame  of  their  poets  and 
their  city  had  brought  to  the  Dionysia  of  the  Athenians.  The  youths 
and  women  had  their  separate  divisions ;  the  rest  of  the  audience  were 
ranged  according  to  their  tribes,  while  the  upper  galleries  were  filled  by 
the  miscellaneous  and  impatient  populace. 

In  the  orchestra,  a  space  left  by  the  semicircular  benches,  with  wings 
stretching  to  the  right  and  left  before  the  scene,  a  small  square  platform 
served  as  the  altar,  to  which  moved  the  choral  dancers,  still  retaining  the 
attributes  of  their  ancient  sanctity.  The  leader  of  the  chorus  took  part 
in  the  dialogue  as  the  representative  of  the  rest,  and,  occasionally,  even 
several  of  the  number  were  excited  into  exclamation  by  the  passion  of 
the  piece.  But  the  principal  duty  of  the  chorus  was  to  diversify  the  dia- 
logue by  hymns  and  dirges  to  the  music  of  flutes,  while  in  dances  far 
more  artful  than  those  now  in  use,  they  represented  by  their  movements 
the  emotions  that  they  sang — thus  bringing,  as  it  were,  into  the  harmony 
of  action  the  poeffl*y  of  language. 

Architectural  embellishments  of  stone,  representing  a  palace  with  three 
entrances,  the  central  one  appropriated  to  royalty,  and  the  others  to 
subordinate  rank,  usually  served  for  the  scene.,  But  at  times,  when  the 
.plot  demanded  a  different  locality,  scenes  painted  with  the  utmost  art 
and  without  regard  to  cost,  were  easily  substituted ;  nor  were  wanting 
the  modern  contrivances  of  artificial  lightning  and  thunder — the  clouds 
for  the  gods,  and  the  variety  of  inventions  for  the  sudden  apparition  of 
demon  agents,  whether  from  above  or  below,  and  all  the  adventitious  aid 
which  mechanism  lends  to  genius. 

From  this  digression  on  the  theatre  and  the  audience  of  Athens,  we 
return  to  JEschylus,  perhaps  the  most  brilliant  ornament  of  the  Grecian 
drama.  It  is  probable  that  his  high  birth,  no  less  than  his  genius,  ena- 
bled him,  with  the  greater  facility,  to  make  the  imposing  and  costly  ad- 
ditions to  the  exhibition,  which  the  nature  of  the  poetry  demanded ;  since, 


225  A.C.]  AESCHYLUS.  251 

while  these  improvements  were  rapidly  proceeding,  the  poetical  fame  of 
jEschylus  was  still  uncrowned.  Nor  was  it  till  the  fifteenth  year  after 
his  first  exhibition  that  the  sublimest  of  the  Greek  poets  obtained  the  ivy 
chaplet,  which  had  meantime  succeeded  to  the  goat  and  the  ox,  as  the 
prize  of  the  tragic  contests.  To  the  monologue  of  Phrynichus  he  added 
a  second  actor ;  he  curtailed  the  chorusses,  connected  them  with  the  main 
story,  and,  more  important  than  all  else,  reduced  to  simple  but  systematic 
rules,  the  progress  and  development  of  a  poem  which  no  longer  had  for 
its  object  to  please  the  ear  or  divert  the  fancy  only,  but  swept  in  its 
mighty  and  irresistible  march  to  besiege  passion  after  passion,  and  spread 
its  empire  over  the  whole  soul. 

When  he  presented  to  the  public  his  first  tragedy,  .ZEschylus  was 
twenty-five  years  of  age ;  and  he  had  for  his  competitors  Pratinas  and 
Cho3rilus.  They  did  not,  however,  long  continue  the  contest ;  but  on 
one  occasion,  while  the  theatre  was  still  a  wooden  fabric,  the  press  of  the 
audience  was  so  great  as  to  break  down  the  platform  upon  which  they 
were  seated,  in  reference  to  which  the  following  lines — all  that  now  re- 
mains of  his  poetry — were  composed  by  Pratinas  : 

What  means  this  tumult?     Why  this  rage? 

What  thunder  shakes  the  Athenian  stage? 

Tis  frantic  Bromiua  bids  me  sing; 

He  tunes  the  pipe,  he  smites  the  string; 

The  Dryads  with  their  chief  accord, 

Submit  and  hail  the  Drama's  Lord. 

Be  still!  and  let  distraction  cease, 

Nor  thus  profane  the  Muse's  peace. 

By  sacred  fiat  I  preside 

The  minstrel's  master  and  his  guide: 

He,  while  the  choral  strains  proceed, 

Shall  follow,  with  responsive  reed; 

To  measur'd  notes,  whilst  they  advance, 

He,  in  wild  maze,  shall  lead  the  dance. 

So  generals  in  the  front  appear, 

Whilst  music  echoes  from  the  rear. 

Now  silence  each  discordant  sound  ! 

For,  see,  with  ivy-chaplet  crowu'd, 

Bacchus  appears !  he  speaks  in  me — 

Hear,  and  obey  the  god's  decree. 

^Eschylus,  emphatically  the  father  of  Greek  tragedy,  was  the  son  of 
Euphorion,  and  was  born  at  Eleusis,  near  Athens,  525  A.C.  He  was 
contemporary  with  Simonides  and  Pindar,  and  his  family  was  one  of  the 
most  ancient  and  distinguished  of  Attica.  His  father  was  probably  con- 
nected with  the  worship  of  Demeter,  from  which  circumstance  ^Eschylus 
may  very  naturally  be  supposed  to  have  thence  received  his  first  religious 
impressions.  He  was  educated  in  accordance  with  his  high  birth  and 


252  AESCHYLUS.  [LECT.  X. 

claims  to  distinction ;  and  from  childhood  he  was  distinguished  for  the 
ardor  of  his  genius,  and  the  boldness  of  his  spirit.  Homer  was  his  first 
model  in  poetry ;  and  so  great  was  his  admiration  for  that  master  of  the 
poetic  art,  that  he  early  committed  his  entire  poems  to  memory ;  and  his 
bold  and  aspiring  spirit  prompted  him,  with  a  temerity  rarely  equalled, 
to  attempt,  even  before  he  had  reached  the  age  of  maturity,  to  rival,  in 
his  own  peculiar  strain,  the  great  father  of  epic  poetry  himself.  Intent 
upon  this  thought,  and  while  occupied  in  watching  the  vineyard,  and  pro- 
tecting the  grapes,  Bacchus,  the  god  of  the  vine,  in  the  midst  of  the 
youthful  poet's  slumbers,  appeared  to  him,  and  invited  him  to  consecrate 
himself  to  the  tragic  muse.  To  this  invitation  JEschylus  willingly  lis- 
tened ;  and  soon  produced  a  tragedy  so  far  transcending  in  merit  any 
other  drama  that  Greece  had  then  witnessed,  that  its  production  became 
the  comparative  era  of  the  dramatic  art.  ^Eschylus  was  at  that  time,  as 
we  have  already  observed,  in  the  twenty-fifth  year  of  his  age. 

Soon  after  this  great  event  in  the  literary  history  of  Greece  trans- 
pired, that  country  was  invaded  by  the  Persians,  and  the  whole  thoughts 
of  the  nation,  until  the  terrors  of  the  invasion  had  passed,  was  turned 
towards  the  defence  of  their  homes,  and  to  their  personal  safety.  ^Es- 
chylus,  therefore,  and  his  two  brothers,  Ameinias  and  Cynsegirus,  entered 
the  army,  and  threw  all  of  their  personal  energy  and  power  into  the  con- 
test. In  the  capacity  of  a  soldier,  he  so  remarkably  distinguished  him- 
self, that,  in  the  picture  which  the  Athenians  caused  to  be  painted  repre- 
senting the  battle  of  Marathon,  his  figure  held  so  prominent  a  place  as 
to  be  at  once  recognized,  even  by  a  casual  observer. 

In  the  battle  of  Salamis,  which  occurred  ten  years  after  the  battle  of 
Marathon,  Ameinias,  the  brother  of  JEschylus,  lost  one  of  his  arms,  but 
was  saved  from  threatened  death  by  the  personal  courage  of  .^Eschylus, 
who  attacked  the  galley  of  the  satrap  with  whom  Ameinias  was  strug- 
gling, and  immediately  sank  it.  In  consequence  of  the  valor  thus  dis- 
played, the  assembled  army  of  Greece,  immediately  after  the  battle, 
voted  to  .ZEschylus  the  first  honor  for  bravery.  Having  equally  distin- 
guished himself  in  the  battle  of  Platsea,  with  which,  and  the  battle  of 
Mycale  that  immediately  followed,  the  war  closed ;  and  j^Eschylus  then 
resumed  his  original  design  of  devoting  all  his  energies  to  the  ennobling 
of  the  drama. 

In  his  literary  career  ^Eschylus  continued  until,  according  to  Suidas 
and  Athenaeus,  he  composed  seventy-six  tragedies,  of  which,  fortunately, 
seven  have  escaped  the  ravages  of  time.  With  one  of  these,  Tlie 
Furies,  the  Athenians  were  deeply  offended,  because  they  supposed  it 
contained  sentiments  of  impiety.  They  cited  him,  therefore,  before  the 
chief  tribunal  of  his  country,  the  Areopagus,  by  which,  after  a  deliberate 
trial,  he  was  pronounced  guilty,  and  sentenced  to  perpetual  banishment. 
But  as  the  sentence  was  about  to  be  executed,  his  brother  Ameinias  pre- 


625  A.C.]  JS^CHYLUS.  253 

sented  himself  before  the  judges,  and  exhibited,  in  their  presence,  what 
remained  of  the  arm  that  had  been  lost  at  the  battle  of  Salamis.  This 
action  revived,  with  so  much  vividness,  the  recollection  of  the  valor  of 
the  family,  that  .ZEschylus  was  immediately  pardoned  and  restored,  not 
only  to  his  former  position,  but  he  became,  if  possible,  a  greater  favorite 
with  the  public  than  he  had  previously  been.  The  remembrance,  how- 
ever, of  the  indignity  heaped  upon  him  by  a  public  trial  for  impiety,  in- 
duced him,  soon  after,  to  leave  Athens,  and  to  retire  to  the  court  of 
Hiero  the  First,  king  of  Syracuse,  who  being  himself  a  man  of  genius  as 
well  as  a  distinguished  patron  of  literature,  received  him  with  the  greatest 
delight,  and  honored  him  with  the  most  distinguished  marks  of  royal  mu- 
nificence. 

During  his  residence  at  the  court  of  Syracuse,  ^Eschylus  is  supposed 
to  have  written  three  at  least  of  the  most  finished  and  admirable  of  his 
tragedies;  but  after  the  death  of  Hiero,  an  event  which  occurred 
467  A.C.,  .ZEschylus  returned  again  to  Athens,  and  resumed  his  position 
as  the  leader  of  the  drama,  and  the  chief  of  its  writers.  Vast  political 
changes  had,  however,  in  the  meantime,  taken  place  at  Athens,  the  de- 
mocracy having  obtained  the  ascendancy ;  the  consequence  of  which  was, 
that  the  high-toned  religious  and  aristocratic  strains  of  jEschylus  were 
there  no  longer  popular. 

To  these  circumstances  may  be  added  the  rising  popularity  of  So- 
phocles, and  the  peculiar  adaptation  of  his  genius  to  the  prevailing  sen- 
timents of  the  times ;  in  consequence  of  which,  a  tragedy  of  his  having 
been  preferred  by  the  judges  to  one  produced  by  ^Eschylus,  ^Eschylus 
again  returned  to  Syracuse ;  and  as  his  patron  ffiero  was  gone,  he  re- 
tired to  the  city  of  G-ela,  where,  in  the  midst  of.  that  accomplished  and 
refined  community  he  passed  the  remainder  of  his  life.  His  death  oc- 
curred 456  A.C.,  when  in  the  sixty-ninth  year  of  his  age  ;  and  the  inhab- 
itants of  Gela  showed  the  estimation  in  which  they  held  his  character  by 
public  solemnities  in  his  honor,  and  by  erecting  a  noble  monument  to  his 
memory — inscribing  upon  it  an  epitaph  written  by  himself.  With  regard 
to  this  epitaph  it  is  curious  to  observe  that  in  it  the  great  poet  makes  no 
allusion  whatever  to  himself  as  an  author,  but  mentions,  as  the  highest 
honor  to  which  he  had  ever  attained,  and  that  which  he  desired  to  be 
permanently  connected  with  his  memory,  his  exploits  as  a  warrior  in  the 
battles  of  Marathon,  Artemisium,  Salamis,  and  Platsea. 

The  story  of  the  death  of  j3Eschylus,  as  related  by  all  antiquity,  is  as 
singular  as  it  is  interesting  and  characteristic.  He  had  long  been  im- 
pressed with  the  idea  that  his  death  would  be  produced  by  a  stroke 
from  heaven ;  and,  as  was  his  frequent  custom,  while  sitting  in  deep  con- 
templation in  one  of  -the  public  parks  of  Gela,  an  eagle,  with  a  tortoise 
in  his  talons,  mistaking  the  old  poet's  bald  head  for  the  surface  of  a  stone, 
precipitated  the  tortoise  upon  it — 


254  ^ESCHYLtlS.  [LECT.  X. 

And  crushed  that  brain  where  tragedy  had  birth. 

The  style  of  .ZEschylus  is  bold,  energetic,  and1  sublime,  full  of  gorgeous 
imagery  and  magnificent  expressions,  such  as  became  the  elevated  charac- 
ters of  his  drama,  and  the  ideas  he  wished  to  express.  In  the  turn  of 
his  expressions,  he  is  more  careful  to  be  poetical  than  grammatical..  He 
was  peculiarly  fond  of  metaphorical  phrases,  strange  compounds,  and 
obsolete  language  ;  so  that  his  diction  was  much  more  epic  than  that  of 
either  of  his  great  successors  in  the  tragic  art  ;  and  he  excelled  in  displaying 
strong  feeling  and  impulses,  and  describing  the  awful  and  the  terrible,  rather 
than  in  exhibiting  the  working  of  the  human  mind  under  the  influence  of 
complicated  and  various  motives.  But  notwithstanding  the  general  ele- 
vation of  his  style,  the  subordinate  characters  in  his  plays,  as  the  watch- 
man in  the  Agamemnon,  and  the  nurse  of  Orestes'in  the  Choephori,  are 
made  to  use  language  fitting  their  station,  and  less  removed  from  that  of 
common  life. 

The  characters  of  ^Eschylus,  like  his  diction,  are  sublime  and  majestic 
in  the  extreme, — they  were  gods  and  heroes  of  colossal  magnitude, 
whose  imposing  aspect  could  be  endured  by  the  heroes  of  Marathon  and 
Salamis,  but  was  too  awful  for  the  contemplation  of  the  next  generation, 
who  complained  that  jEschylus'  language  was  not  human.  Hence,  the 
general  impression  produced  by  the  poetry  of  jEschylus  was  rather  of  a 
religious  than  of  a  moral  nature^  his  personages  being  both  in  action  and 
suffering,  superhuman,  and  therefore  not  always  fitted  to  teach  practical 
lessons.  He  produces,  indeed,  a  sort  of  religious  awe,  and  dread  of  the 
irresistible  power  of  the  gods,  to  which  man  is  represented  as  being  en- 
tirely subject ;  but  on  the  other  hand  humanity  often  appears  as  the  sport 
of  anorj-esistible  destiny,  or  the  victim  of  a  struggle  between  superior 
beings.  §till  ^Eschylus  sometimes  discloses  a  providential  order  of  com- 
pensation and  retribution,  while  he  always  teaches  the  duty  of  resigna- 
tion and  submission  to  the  will  of  the  gods,  and  the  futility  and  fatal  con- 
sequences of  all  opposition  to  it. 

Of  the  seven  dramas  of  j33schylus  still  extant,  Prometheus  is  perhaps, 
the  most  remarkable.  In  pure  and  sustained  sublimity  it  is  unsurpassed 
in  the  literature  of  the  world.  Two  vast  demons,  according  to  the  fable, 
Strength  and  Force,  accompanied  by  Yulcan,  appear  in  a  remote  plain  of 
the  earth — an  unpeopled  desert.  There,  on  a  sterile  and  lofty  rock,  near 
the  sea,  Prometheus  is  chained  by  Vulcan — '  a  reward  for  his  disposition 
to  be  tender  to  mankind.'  The  date  of  this  doom  is  cast  far  back  in  the 
earliest  dawn  of  time,  and  Jupiter  has  but  just  commenced  his  reign. 
While  Vulcan  binds  him,  Prometheus  utters  no  sound — it  is  Vulcan,  the 
agent  of  his  punishment,  that  alone  complains.  Nor  is  it  till  the  dread 


525A.C.]  AESCHYLUS.  255 

task  is  done,  and  the  ministers  of  Jupiter  have  retired,  that  l  the  god,  un- 
awed  by  the  wrath  of  gods/  bursts  forth  with  his  grand  apostrophe : 

Oh  Air  divine !     Oh  ye  swift-winged  Winds, — 
Ye  sources  of  the  Rivers,  and  ye  Waves, 
That  dimple  o'er    old  Ocean  like  his  smiles, — 
Mother  of  all — oh  Earth !   and  thou  the  orb, 
All-seeing,  of  the  Sun,  behold  and  witness 
What  I,  a  god,  from  the  stern  gods  endure. 
***** 

When  shall  my  doom  be  o'er  ? — Be  o'er  ! — to  me 
The  Future  hides  no  riddle — nor  can  woe 
Come  unprepared!     It  fits  me  then  to  brave 
That  which  must  be:   for  what  can  turn  aside 
The  dark  course  of  the  grim  Necessity  ? 

While  thus  soliloquizing,  the  air  becomes  fragrant  with  odors,  and 
faintly  stirs  with  the  rustling  of  approaching  wings.  The  Daughters  of 
Ocean,  aroused  from  their  grots  below,  are  come  to  console  the  Titan. 
They  utter  many  complaints  against  the  dynasty  of  Jove.  Prometheus 
comforts  himself  by  the  prediction  that  the  Olympian  shall  hereafter  re- 
quire his  services,  and  that,  until  himself  released  from  his  bondage,  he 
will  never  reveal  to  his  tyrant  the  danger  that  menaces  his  realm ;  for 
the  vanquished  is  here  described  as  of  a  mightier  race  than  the  victor,  and 
to  him  are  bared  the  mysteries  of  the  future,  which  to  Jupiter  are  denied. 
The  triumph  of  Jupiter  is  the  conquest  of  brute  force  over  knowledge. 

Prometheus  then  narrates  how,  by  means  of  his  councils,  Jupiter  had 
gained  his  sceptre,  and  the  ancient  Saturn  and  his  partisans  had  been 
whelmed  beneath  the  abyss  of  Tartarus — how  he  alone  had  interfered 
with  Jupiter  to  prevent  the  extermination  of  the  human  race  (whom  alone 
the  celestial  king  disregarded  and  condemned] — how  he  had*  imparted  to 
them  fire,  the  seed  of  all  the  arts,  and  exchanged  in  their  breasts  the 
terrible  knowledge  of  the  future  for  the  beguiling  flatteries  of  hope ;  and 
hence  his  punishment. 

At  this  time  Ocean  himself  appears :  he  endeavors  unavailingly  to 
persuade  the  Titan  to  submission  to  Jupiter.  The  great  spirit  of  Pro- 
metheus, and  his  consideration  for  others,  are  beautifully  individualized 
in  his  answers  to  his  consoler,  whom  he  warns  not  to  incur  the  wrath  of 
the  tyrant  by  sympathy  with  the  afflicted.  Alone  again  with  the  Oceanides, 
the  latter  burst  forth  in  fresh  strains  of  pity  : 

The  wide  earth  echoes  wailingly, 

Stately  and  antique  were  thy  fallen  race, —  • 

The  wide  earth  waileth  thee ! 

Lo !   from  the  holy  Asian  dwelling-place, 
Fall  for  a  godhead's  wrongs,  the  morfal's  murmuring  tears, 

They  mourn  within  the  Colchian  land, 
The  virgin  and  the  warrior  daughters, 

And  far  remote,  the  Scythian  band, 


256  AESCHYLUS.  [lawr.  X. 

Around  the  broad  MoBotian  waters, 

And  they  who  hold  in  Caucasus  their  tower, 

Arabia's  martial  flower 
Hoarse-clamoring  'midst  sharp  rows  o£  barbed  spears. 

One  have  I  seen  with  equal  tortures  riven — 

An  equal  god ;  in  adamantine  chains 
Ever  and  evermore, 

The  Titan  Atlas,  crush'd,  sustains 
The  mighty  mass  of  mighty  heaven, 
And  the  whirling  cataracts  roar, 
With  a  chime  to  the  Titan's  groans, 
And  the  depth  that  receives  them  moans: 

And  from  vaults  that  the  earth  are  under, 

Black  Hades  is  heard  in  thunder ; 
While  from  the  founts  of  white-waved  rivers  flow 
Melodious  sorrows,  uniting  with  his  wo«. 

Prometheus,  in  his  answer,  still  farther  details  the  benefits  he  had  con- 
ferred on  man, — he  arrogates  to  himself  their  elevation  to  intellect  and 
reason.  He  proceeds  darkly  to  dwell  on  the  power  of  Necessity,  guided 
by  *  the  triform  fates  and  unforgotten  Furies,'  whom  he  asserts  to  be 
sovereign  over  Jupiter  himself.  He  declares  that  Jupiter  cannot  escape 
his  doom  :  '  His  doom,'  ask  the  daughters  of  Ocean  ;  '  is  he  not  evermore 
to  reign  ?'  '  That  thou  mayst  not  learn,'  replies  the  prophet ;  '  and  in  the 
preservation  of  this  secret  depends  my  future  freedom !' 

The  rejoinder  of  the  chorus  is  singularly  beautiful,  and  it  is  with  a 
pathos  not  common  to  jEschylus,  that  they  contrast  their  present  mourn- 
ful strains  with  that  which  they  poured 

•   What  time  the  silence  erst  was  broken, 

Around  the  baths,  and  o'er  the  bed 
To  which,  won  well  by  many  a  soft  love-token, 
And  hymn'd  with  all  the  music  of  delight, 
Our  Ocean-sister,  bright 

Hesione,  was  led ! 

At  the  end  of  this  choral  song  appears  lo,  performing  her  mystic  pil- 
grimage. The  utter  woe  and  despair  of  lo  are  finely  contrasted  with  the 
stern  spirit  of  Prometheus.  Her  introduction  gives  rise  to  those  ances- 
tral and  traditionary  allusions,  to  which  the  Greeks  were  so  much  at- 
tached. In  prophesying  her  fate,  Prometheus  enters  into  much  beautiful 
descriptive  poetry,  and  commenlorates  the  lineage  of  the  Argive  kings. 
After  lo's  departure,  Prometheus  renews  his  defiance  to  Jupiter,  and  his 
stern  prophecies,  that  the  son  of  Saturn  shall  be  '  hurled  from  his  realm, 
a  forgotten  king.'  In  the  midst  of  these  weird  denunciations,  Mercury 
arrives,  charged  by  Jupiter  to  learn  the  nature  of  that  danger  which 
Prometheus  predicts  to  him.  The  Titan  bitterly  and  haughtily  defies 


625A.C.}  AESCHYLUS.  257 

•  • 

the  threats  and  warnings  of  the  herald,  and  exults  that,  whatever  be  his 
tortures,  he  is  at  least  immortal, — to  be  afflicted,  but  not  to  die.  Mer- 
cury at  length  departs — the  menace  of  Jupiter  is  fulfilled — the  punishment 
is  consummated — and,  amid  storm  and  earthquake,  both  rock  and  prisoner 
are  struck  by  the  lightnings  of  the  god  into  the  deep  abyss : 

The  earth  is  made  to  reel,  and  rumbling  by,      : 

Bellowing  it  rolls,  the  thunder's  gathering  wrath  1 

And  the  fierce  fires  glare  livid ;   and  along 

The  rocks,  the  eddies  of  the  sands  whirl  high, 

Borne  by  the  hurricane,  and  all  the  blasts 

Of  all  the  winds  leap  forth,  each  hurtling  each — 

Met  in  the  wildness  of  a  ghastly  war, 

The  dark  floods  blended  with  the  swooping  heaven. 

It  comes — it  comes!   oa  me  it  speeds — the  storm, 

The  rushing  onslaught  of  the  thunder-god; 

Oh,  majesty  of  earth,  my  solemn  mother !  • 

And  thou  that  through  the  universal  void, 

Circlest  sweet  light,  all  blessing ; — Earth  and  Ether, 

Ye  I  invoke,  to  know  the  wrongs  I  suffer. 

Such  is  the  conclusion  of  this  unequalled  drama — perhaps  the  greatest 
moral  poem  ever  written — sternly  and  loftily  intellectual — and,  amid  the 
darker  and  less  palpable  allegories,  presenting  to  us  the  superiority  of 
an  immortal  being  to  all  mortal  sufferings.  Regarded  merely  as  poetry, 
the  conception  of  the  Titan  of  jEschylus  has  no  parallel,  except  in  the 

Fiend  of  Milton. 

.• 

Besides  the  Prometheus,  we  have  of  the  tragedies  of  .ZEschylus, 
the  Seven  against  Thebes,  the  Agamemnon,  the  Ckoepkori,  the  Eumen- 
ides,  the  Supplicants,  and  the  Persians.  Our  space  will  not,  however, 
allow  us  to  analyze  each  of  these ;  and  we  shall,  therefore,  only  briefly 
notice  the  '  Agamemnon,'  and  then  close  with  an  extract  from  the 
*  Persians,' 

The  opening  of  the  '  Agamemnon,'  with  the  solitary  watchman  on  the 
tower,  who,  for  ten  long  years,  has  watched  nightly  for  the  beacon-fires 
that  were  to  announce  the  fall  of  Ilion,  and  who  now  beholds  the  blaze  at 
last,  is  grand  and  impressive  in  the  extreme.  The  description  which 
Clytemnestra  gives  of  the  progress  of  these  beacon-fires  from  Troy  to 
Argos  is,  for  its  picturesque  animation,  one  of  the  most  celebrated  in 
^Bschylus.  Clytemnestra  having  announced  to  the  chorus  the  capture 
of  Troy,  the  chorus,  half-incredulous,  demand  what  messenger  conveyed 
the  intelligence.  Clytemnestra  replies  : 

A  gleam — a  gleam — from  Ida's  height, 
By  the  fire-god  sent,  it  came; 
17 


258  AESCHYLUS.  [LKOT.  X. 

From  •watch  to  watch  it  leap'd  that  light, 
As  a  rider  rode  the  flame! 

It  shot  through  the  startled  sky, 

And  the  torch  of  that  blazing  glory 
Old  Lemnos  caught  on  high, 

On  its  holy  promontory, 
And  sent  it  on,  the  jocund  sign, 
To  Athos,  mount  of  Jove  divine. 
"Wildly  the  while  it  rose  from  the  isle, 
So  that  the  might  of  the  journeying  light 
Skimmed  over  the  back  of  the  gleaming  brine ! 

Farther  and.  faster  speeds  it  on, 
Till  the  watch  that  keep  Macistus  steep — 
See  it  burst  like  a  blazing  sun  1 
Doth  Macistus  sleep 
On  his  tower-clad  steep? 
No  1  rapid  and  red  doth  the  wild-fire  sweep 
It  flashes  afar,  on  the  wayward  stream 
Of  the  wild  Euripus,  the  rushing  beam! 
It  rouses  the  light  on  Messapion's  height, 
And  they  feed  its  breath  with  the  withered  heath 
But  it  may  not  stay  1 
And  away — away — 
It  bounds  in  its  freshning  might. 
Silent  and  soon, 
Like  a  broadening  moon, 
It  passes  in  sheen,  Asopus  green, 
And  bursts  on  Cithaeron  gray. 
The  warder  wakes  to  the  signal  rays, 
And  it  swoops  from  the  hill  with  a  broader  blaze, 
On — on  the  fiery  glory  rode — 
Tny  lonely  lake,  Gorgopis,  glowed — 
To  Megara's  Mount  it  came ; 
They  feed  it  again, 
And  it  streams  amain — 
A  giant  beard  of  flame ! 
The  headland  cliffs  that  darkly  down 
O'er  the  Saronic  waters  frown, 
Are  pass'd  with  the  swift  one's  lurid  stride, 
And  the  huge  rock  glares  on  the  glaring  tide, 
With  mightier  march  and  fiercer  power 
It  gain'd  Arachne's  neighboring  tower — 
Thence  on  our  Argive  roof  its  rest  it  won, 
Of  Ida's  fire  the  long-descended  son  I 

Bright  harbinger  of  glory  and  of  joy  1 
So  first  and  last  with  equal  honor  crown'd, 
In  solemn  feasts  the  race-torch  circles  round. 
And  these  my  heralds  1   this  my  Sign  of  Peace  ! 
Lo  1   while  we  breathe,  the  victor  lords  of  Greece 
Stalk,  in  stern  tumult,  through  the  halls  of  Troy  1 

In  one  of  the  earlier  choruses,  in  which  is  introduced  an  episodical 


525  A.D.]  AESCHYLUS.  259 

allusion  to  the  abduction  of  Helen,  occurs  one  of  those  soft  passages  so 
rare  in  JEschylus,  nor  less  exquisite  than  rare.  The  chorus  suppose  the 
minstrels  of  Menelaus  thus  to  lament  the  loss  of  Helen  : 


And  woe  the  halls,  and  woe  the  chiefs, 

And  woe  the  bridal  bed  1 
And  woe  her  steps — for  once  she  loved 

The  lord  whose  love  she  fled ! 
Lol   where,  dishonor  yet  unknown, 
He  sits — nor  deems  his  Helen  flown, 
Tearless  and  voiceless  on  the  spot: 
All  desert,  but  he  feels  it  not ! 
Ahl   soon  alive,  to  miss  and  mourn 
The  form  beyond  the  ocean  borne, 

Shall  start  the  lonely  kingl 
And  thought  shall  fill  the  lost  one's  room, 
And  darkly  through  the  palace  gloom 

Shall  stalk  a  ghostly  thing. 

Her  statues  meet,  as  round  they  rise, 

The  leaden  stare  of  lifeless  eyes. 
Where  is  their  ancient  beauty  gone? — 
"Why  loathe  his  looks  the  breathing  stone? 
Alas !   the  foulness  of  disgrace 
Hath  swept  the  Venus  from  her  face  1 
And  visions  in  the  mournful  night 
Shall  dupe  the  heart  to  false  delight, 

A  false  and  melancholy; 
For  naught  with  sadder  joy  is  fraught, 
Than  things  at  night  by  dreaming  brought, 

The  wish'd  for  and  the  holy. 
Swift  from  the  solitary  side, 
The  vision  and  the  blessing  glide, 
Scarce  welcomed  ere  they  sweep, 

Pale,  bloodless,  dreams,  aloft 

On  wings  unseen  and  soft, 
Lost  wanderers  gliding  through  the  paths  of  sleep. 

The  most  terrible  and  impressive  scene  in  this  tragedy  is,  however,  in 
the  introduction  of  -Cassandra,  who  accompanies  Agamemnon,  and  who, 
in  the  very  hour  of  his  return,  amid  the  pomp  and  joy  that  welcome  ( the 
king  of  men,'  is  seized  with  the  prophetic  inspiration,  and  shrieks  out 
those  ominous  warnings,  fated  ever  to  be  heard  in  vain.  It  is  she  who 
.recalls  to  the  chorus,  and  to  the  shuddering  audience,  that  it  is  the  house 
of  the  long-fated  Atridse,  to  which  their  descendant  has  returned — ( that 
human  shamble  house — that  bloody  floor — that  dwelling,  abhorred  by 
heaven,  privy  to  so  many  horrors  against  the  most  sacred  ties  ;'  the  doom 
yet  hangs  over  the  inexpiable  threshold ;  the  curse  passes  from  generation 
to  generation  ;  Agamemnon  is  the  victim  of  his  sires. 

Recalling  the  inhuman  banquet  served  by  Atreus  to  Thyestes  of  his 


260  AESCHYLUS.  [LKCT.  X 

own  murdered  children,  she  starts  from  the  mangled  spectres  on  the 
threshold: 

See  ye  those  infants  crouching  by  the  floor, 

Like  phantom  dreams,  pale  nurslings,  that  have  perish'd 

By  kindred  hands. 

Gradually  her  ravings  become  clearer  and  clearer,  until  at  last  she 
scents  the  '  blood  dripping  slaughter  within;'  a  vapor  rises  to  her  nostrils, 
as  from  a  charnel-house — her  own  fate,  which  she  foresees  at  hand, 
begins  to  overpower  her — her  mood  softens,  and  she  enters  the  palace, 
about  to  become  her  tomb,  with  thoughts  in  which  frantic  terror  has 
yielded  to  solemn  resignation  : 

Alas  for  mortals  1  what  their  power  and  pride? 
A  little  shadow  sweeps  it  from  the  earth! 
And  if  they  suffer — why,  the  fatal  hour 
Comes  o'er  the  record  like  a  moisten'd  sponge, 
And  blots  it  out;  methinks  this  latter  lot 
Affects  me  deepest.     Well!   'tis  pitiful! 

Scarcely  has  the  prophetess  withdrawn,  than  we  hear  behind  the  scenes 
the  groans  of  the  murdered  king,  the  palace  behind  is  opened,  and  Cly 
temnestra  is  standing,  stern  and  lofty,  by  the  dead  body  of  her  lord. 

The  '  Persians'  is  rather  picturesque  than  dramatic,  and  may  be  con- 
sidered as  a  proud  triumphal  song  in  favor  of  Liberty.  It  portrays  the 
defeat  of  Xerxes,  and  contains  one  of  the  most  valuable  of  historical 
descriptions,  in  the  lines  which  follow,  devoted  to  the  battle  of  Salamis. 
The  speech  of  Atossa,  mother  of  Xerxes,  in  which  she  enumerates  the 
offerings  to  the  shade  of  Darius,  is  exquisitely  beautiful.  Nor  is  there 
less  poetry  in  the  invocation  of  the  chorus  to  the  shade  of  Darius,  which 
slowly  rises  as  they  conclude.  This  play  was  exhibited  eight  years  after 
the  battle  of  Salamis,  and  whilst  the  memory  of  each  circumstance  de- 
tailed was  still  present  to  the  minds  of  the  audience ;  so  that  the  narrative 
may  be  considered  in  some  degree  as  a  history  of  that  great  event.  The 
scene  is  laid  at  Susa,  and  in  the  vicinity  of  the  tomb  of  Darius : 


ATOSSA.— CHORUS. 

Atoss. — Indulge  me,  friends,  who  wish  to  be  informed 
"Where,  in  what  clime  the  towers  of  Athens  rise  ? 
Chor. — Far  in  the  west,  where  sits  the  imperial  sun. 
Atoss. — Yet  my  son  willed  the  conquest  of  this  town. 
Chor. — May,  Greece,  through  all  her  States,  bend  to  his  power. 
Atoss. — Do  they  send  numerous  armies  to  the  field? 
Chor. — Armies,  that  to  the  Medes  have  wrought  much  woe. 
Atoss. — Have  they  sufficient  treasures  in  their  houses  ? 


525  A.C.]  AESCHYLUS.  261 

Chor. — Their  rich  earth  is  a  copious  fount  of  silver. 

Atoss.— From  the  strong  bow,  wing  they  the  barbed  shaft? 

Chor. — No ;   but  they  have  stout  spears,  and  massy  bucklers. 

Atoss. — What  monarch  reigns,  and  who  commands  their  army? 

Chor. — Slaves  to  no  lord,  they  own  no  kingly  power. 
,          Atoss. — How  can  they  then  resist  the  invading  foes? 

Chor. — So  as  to  destroy  the  armies  of  Darius. 

Atoss. — Serious  your  words  to  parents,  who  have  sons  there. 

Chor. — But  if  I  judge  aright,  thou  soon  shalt  hear 
Each  circumstance;   for  here's  a  Persian  messenger. 
Tidings,  no  doubt,  'he  brings  of  good  or  ill 

Enter  MESSENGER. 

Mess. — Woe  to  the  towns  of  Asia's  peopled  realms ! 
Woe  to  the  land  of  Persia,  once  the  port 
Of  boundless  wealth  1     All,  at  a  blow,  has  perished ! 
Ah  me !     How  sad  his  task,  who  brings  ill  tidings. 
But  to  my  tale  of  woe — I  needs  must  tell  it. 
Persians,  the  whole  barbaric  host  has  fallen. 

Chor. — O  horror,  horror,  what  a  train  of  ills. 

Mess. — I  speak  not  from  report ;   but  these  mine  eyes 
Beheld  the  ruin  which  my  tongue  would  utter. 

Chor. — Alas !     Is  Ellas  then  unscathed  ?     And  has 
Our  arrowy  tempest  spent  its  force  in  vain? 

Mess. — In  heaps  the  unhappy  dead  lie  on  the  strand, 
Of  Salamis,  and  all  the  neighboring  shores. 

Chor. — Raise  the  funereal  cry,  with  dismal  notes 
Wailing  the  wretched  Persians.     O  how  ill 
They  plann'd  their  measures !     All  their  army  perished ! 

Mess. — O  Salamis,  how  hateful  is  thy  name ! 
Oh,  how  my  heart  groans  but  to  think  of  Athens ! 

Chor. — How  dreadful  to  her  foes?     Call  to  remembrance 
How  many  Persian  dames,  wedded  in  vain, 
Hath  Athens  of  their  noble  husbands  widow'd  ? 

Atoss. — Astonish'd  with  these  ills,  my  voice  thus  long 
Hath  wanted  utterance :   griefs  like  these  exceed 
The  power  of  speech  or  question:   yet  e'en  such, 
Inflicted  by  the  gods,  must  mortal  man 
Constrain'd  by  hard  necessity,  endure. 
But  tell  me  all,  without  distraction  tell  me 
All  this  calamity,  though  many  a  groan 
Burst  from  thy  laboring  heart.     Who  is  not  fallen! 
What  leader  must  we  wail?     What  sceptred  chief 
Dying,  hath  left  his  troops  without  a  lord? 

Mess. — Xerxes  himself  lives,  and  beholds  the  light. 

Atoss. — That  word  beams  comfort  on  my  house,  a  ray 
That  brightens  through  the  melancholy  gloom. 

Mess. — Artembares,  the  potent  chief  that  led 
Ten  thousand  horse,  lies  slaughtered  on  the  rocks 
Of  rough  Sileniae.     The  great  Dadaces, 
Beneath  whose  standard  march'd  a  thousand  horse, 
Pierced  by  a  spear,  fell  headlong  from  the  ship. 
Tenagon,  bravest  of  the  Bactrians,  lies 


262  AESCHYLUS.  [LECT.  X. 

Roll'd  on  the  wave- worn  beach  of  Ajax's  isle. 

Lilseus.  Arsames,  Argestes,  dash 

With  violence  in  death  against  the  rocks 

Where  nest  the  -silver  doves.     Arcteus,  that  dwelt 

Near  to  the  fountains  of  the  Egyptian  Nile, 

Adeues,  and  Pheresba,  and  Pharnuchus 

Fell  from  one  ship.     Matallus,  Chrysa's  chief, 

That  led  his  dark'ning  squadrons,  thrice  ten  thousand, 

On  jet-black  steeds,  with  purple  gore  distain'd 

The  yellow  of  his  thick  and  shaggy  beard. 

The  Magian  Arabus,  and  Artatnes 

From  Bactra,  mould'ring  on  the  dreary  shore 

Lie  low.     Amistris  and  Amphistreus  there 

Grasps  his   war-wearied  spear ;  there  prostrate  lies 

The  illustrious  Ariomardus ;  long  his  loss 

Shall  Sardis  weep;  thy  Mysian  Sisames, 

And  Tharybis,  that  o'er  the  burden'd  deep 

Led  five  times  fifty  vessels ;  Lerna  gave 

The  hero  birth,  and  manly  grace  adorn'd 

His  pleasing  form,  but  low  in  death  he  lies, 

Unhappy  in  his  fate.     Syennesis, 

Cilicia's   warlike  chief,  who  dared  to  front 

The  foremost  dangers,  singly  to  the  foes 

A  terror,  there,  too,  found  a  glorious  death. 

These  chieftains  to  my  sad  remembrance  rise, 

Relating  but  a  few  of  many  ills. 

A  toss. — This  is  the  height  of  ill,  ah  me!  and  shame 
To  Persia,  grief,  and  lamentation  loud. 
But  tell  me  this,  afresh  renew  thy  tale : 
What  was  the  number  of  the  Grecian  fleet, 
That  in  fierce  conflict  their  bold  barks  should  dare 
Rush  to  encounter  with  the  Persian  hosts. 

Mess. — Know  then,  in  numbers  the  barbaric  fleet 
'        Was  far  superior :   in  ten  squadrons,  each 

Of  thirty  ships,  Greece  plough'd  the  deep ;  of  these 
One  held  a  distant  station.     Xerxes  led 
A  thousand  ships ;  their  number  well  I  know ; 
Two  hundred  more,  and  seven,  that  swept  the  seas 
With  speediest  sail :   this  was  their  full  amount. 
And  in  the  engagement  seem'd  we  not  secure 
Of  victory  ?     But  unequal  fortune  sunk 
Our  scale  in  fight,  discomfitting  our  host. 

Atoss. — The  gods  preserve  the  city  of  Minerva. 

Mess. — The  walls  of  Athens  are  impregnable, 
Their  firmest  bulwarks  her  heroic  sons. 

Atoss. — Which  navy  first  advanced  to  the  attack? 
Who  led  to  the  onset,  tell  me;  the  bold  Greeks, 
Or,  glorying  in  his  numerous  fleet,  my  son? 

Mess. — Our  evil  genius,  lady,  or  some  god 
Hostile  to  Persia,  led  to  ev'ry  ill. 
Forth  from  the  troops  of  Athens  came  a  Greek, 
And  thus  addressed  thy  son,  the  imperial  Xerxes  : 
'Soon  as  the  shades  of  night  descend,  the  Grecians 


525  A.C.]  AESCHYLUS.  033 

Shall  quit  their  station ;   rushing  to  their  oars 
They  mean  to  separate,  and  in  secret  flight 
Seek  safety !'      At  these  words  the  royal  chief, 
Little  conceiving  of  the  wiles  of  Greece 
And  gods  averse,  to  all  the  naval  leaders 
Gave  his  high  charge : — '  Soon  as  yon  sun  shall  cease 
To  dart  his  radiant  beams,  and  dark'niug  night 
Ascends  the  temple  of  the  sky,  arrange 
In  three  divisions  your  -well-ordered  ships, 
And  guard  each  pass,  each  outlet  of  the  seas : 
Others    curing    around  this  rocky  isle 
Of  Salamis.     Should  Greece  escape  her  fate, 
And  work  her  way  by  secret  flight,  your  heads 
Shall  answer  the  neglect.'     This  harsh  command 
He  gave,  exulting  in  his  mind,  nor  knew 
What  Fate  design'd.     With  martial  discipline 
And  prompt  obedience,  snatching  a  repast, 
Each  mariner  fixed  well  his  ready  oar. 
Soon  as  the  golden  sun  was  set,  and  night 
Advanced,  each  train'd  to  ply  the  dashing  oar, 
Assumed  his  seat;   in  arms  each  warrior  stood, 
Troop  cheering  troop  through  all  the  ships  of  war. 
Each  to  the  appointed  station  steers  his  course ; 
And  through  the  night    his  naval  force  each  chief 
Fix'd  to  secure  the  passes.     Night  advanced, 
But  not  by  secret  flight  did  Greece  attempt 
To  escape.     The  morn,  all  beauteous  to  behold, 
Drawn  by  white  steeds  bounds  o'er  the  enlightened  earth; 
At  once  from  every  Greek  with  glad  acclaim 
Burst  forth  the  song  of  war,  whose  lofty  notes 
The  echo  of  the  island  rocks  return'd, 
Spreading  dismay  through  Persia's  hosts,  thus  fallen 
From  their  high  hopes ;   no  flight  this  solemn  strain 
Portended,  but  deliberate  valor  bent 
On  daring  battle  ;    while  the  trumpet's   sound 
Kindled  the  flames  of  war.     But  when  their  oars, 
The  paean  ended,  with  impetuous  force 
Dash'd.the  resounding  surges,  instant  all 
Rush'd  on  in  view :   in  orderly  array 
The  squadron  on  the  right  first  led,  behind 
Rode  their  whole  fleet ;  and  now  distinct  we  heard 
From  every  part  this  voice  of  exhortation : 
'  Advance  ye  sons  of  Greece,  from  thraldom  save, 
Your  country, — save  your  wives,  your  children  save, 
The  temples  of  your  gods,  the  sacred  tomb 
Where  rest  your  honor 'd  ancestors ;   this  day 
The  common  cause  of  all  demands  your  valor  ! 
Meantime  from  Persia's  hosts  the  deep'ning  shout 
Answered  their  shout ;   no  time  for  cold  delay ; 
But  ship  'gainst  ship  its  brazen  beak  impell'd. 
First  to  the  charge  a  Grecian  galley  rush'd; 
111  the  Phrenician  bore  the  rough  attack. 


264  AESCHYLUS.  [Lsor.  X, 

Its  sculptured  prow  all  shatter'd.     Each  advanced 

Daring  an  opposite.     The  deep  array 

Of  Persia  at  the  first  sustained  the  encounter ; 

But  their  throng'd  numbers,  in  the  narrow  seas 

Confined,  want  room  for  action ;   and,  deprived 

Of  mutual  aid,  beaks  clash  with  beaks,  and  each 

Breaks  all  the  other's  oars :   with  skill  disposed 

The  Grecian  navy  circled  them  around 

In  fierce  assault ;   and  rushing  from  its  height 

The  inverted  vessel  sinks :   the  sea  no  more 

Wears  its  accustom'd  aspect,  with  foul  wrecks 

And  blood  disfigured ;   floating  carcasses 

Roll  on  the  rocky  shores :   the  poor  remains 

Of  the  barbaric  armament  to  flight 

Ply  every  oar  inglorious :   onward  rush 

The  Greeks  amidst  the  ruins  of  the  fleet, 

As  through  a  shoal  of  fish  caught  in  the  net, 

Spreading  destruction :   the  wide  ocean  o'er 

Wailings  are  heard,  and  loud  laments,  till  'night 

With  darkness  on  her  brow  brought  grateful  truce. 

Should  I  recount  each  circumstance  of  woe, 

Ten  times  on  my  unfinished  tale  the  sun 

Would  set ;   for  be  assured  that  not  one  day 

Could  close  the  ruin  of  so  vast  a  host. 

Atoss.     Ah,  what  a  boundless  sea  of  woe  hath  burst 
On  Persia,  and  -the  whole  barbaric  race  ! 

Mess.     These  are  not  half,  not  half  our  ills ;   on  these 
Came  an  assemblage  of  calamities, 
That  sunk  us  with  a  double  weight  of  woe. 

Atoss.     What  fortune  can  be  more  unfriendly  to  us 
Than  this  ?     Say  on,  what  dread  calamity 
Sank  Persia's  host  with  greater  weight  of  woe. 

Mess.     Whoe'er  of  Persia's  warriors  glow'd  in  prime 
Of  vig'rous  youth,  or  felt  their  generous  souls 
Expand  with  courage,  or  for  noble  birth 
Shone  with  distinguish'd  lustre,  or  excell'd 
In  firm  and  duteous  loyalty,  all  these 
Are  fall'n,  ignobly,  miserably  fall'n. 

Atoss.     Alas,  their  ruthless  fate,  unhappy  friends! 
But  in  what  manner  tell  me  did  they  perish  ? 

Mess.     Full  against  Salamis  an  isle  arises, 
Of  small  circumference,  to  the  anchor'd  bark 
Unfaithful ;   on  the  promontory's  brow, 
That  overlooks  the  sea,  Pan  loves  to  lead 
The  dance :   to  this  the  monarch  sends  these  chiefs 
That  when  the  Grecians  from  their  shatter'd  ships 
Should  here  seek  shelter,  these  might  hew  them  down 
An  easy  conquest,  and  secure  the  strand 
To  their  sea- wearied  friends ;   ill-judging  what 
The  event :   but  when  the  favoring  god  to  Greece 
Gave  the  proud  glory  of  this  naval  fight, 
Instant  in  all  their  glitt'ring  arms  they  leap'd 


525  A.C.]  J3SCHYLUS.  265 

From  their  light  ships,  and  all  the  island  round 
Encompass'd  that  our  bravest  stood  dismay'd ; 
While  broken  rocks,  whirl'd  with  tempestuous  force, 
And  storms  of  arrows  crush'd  them ;  .then  the  Greeks 
Rush  to  the  attack  at  once,  and  furious  spread 
The  carnage  till  each  mangled  Persian  fell. 
Deep  were  the  groans  of  Xerxes  when  he  saw 
This  havoc ;   for  his  seat,  a  lofty  mound 
Commanding  the  wide  sea,  o'erlooked  his  host. 
With  rueful  cries  he  rent  his  royal  robes, 
And  through  his  troops  embattled  on  the  shore 
Gave  signal  of  retreat ;   then  started  wild, 
And  fled  disorder'd.     To  the  former  ills 
These  are  fresh  miseries  to  awake  thy  sighs. 

A  toss.     Invidious  Fortune,  how  thy  baleful  power 
Hath  sunk  the  hopes  of  Persia!     Bitter  fruit 
My  son  hath  tasted  from  his  purposed  vengeance 
On  Athens,  famed  for  arms  ;  the  fatal  field 
Of  Marathon,  red  with  barbaric  blood, 
Sufficed  not ;  that  defeat  he  thought  to  avenge, 
And  pull'd  this  hideous  ruin  on  his  head. 
But  tell  me,  if  thou  canst,  where  didst  thou  leave 
The  ships  that  happily  escaped  the  wreck  ? . 

Mess.     The  poor  remains  of  Persia's  scatter'd  fleet 
Spread  ev'ry  sail  -for  flight,  as  the  wind  drives, 
In  wild  disorder;   and  on  land  no  less* 
The  ruin'd  army ;  in  Boaotia  some, 
With  thirst  oppress'd,  at  Crene's  cheerful  rills 
Were  lost;   forespent  with  breathless  speed  some  pass 
The  fields  of  Phocis,  some  the  Doric  plain, 
And  near  the  gulf  of  Melia,  the  rich  vale 
Through  which  Sperchius  rolls  his  friendly  stream. 
Achaia  thence  and  the  Thessalian  state 
Received  our  famished  train ;   the  greater  part 
Through  thirst  and  hunger  perished  there,  oppreas'd 
At  once  by  both:   but  we  our  painful  steps 
Held  onwards  to  Magnesia,  and  the  land 
Of  Macedonia,  o'er  the  ford  of  Axius, 
And  Bolbe's  sedgy  marshes,  and  the  heights 
Of  steep  Pangaeos,  to  the  realms  of  Thrace. 
That  night,  ere  yet  the  season,  breathing  frore, 
Rush'd  winter,  and  with  ice  encrusted  o'er 
The  flood  of  sacred  Strymon ;  such  as  own'd 
No  god  till  now,  awe-struck,  with  many  a  prayer 
Adored  the  earth  and  sky.     When  now  the  troops 
Had  ceased  their  invocations  to  the  gods, 
O'er  the  stream's  solid  crystal  they  began 
Their  march;  and  we,  who  took  our  early  way, 

Ere  the  sun  darted  his  warm  beams,  pass'd  safe : 

7  *  , 

But  when  his  burning  orb  with  fiery  rays 
Unbound  the  middle  current,  down  they  sunk 
Each  over  other ;  happiest  he  who  found 


266  AESCHYLUS.  [LKOT.  X. 

The  speediest  death :   the  poor  remains,  that  'scaped, 

With  pain  through  Thrace  dragg'd  on  their  toilsome  march, 

A  feeble  few,  and  reach'd  their  native  soil ; 

So  Persia  sighs  through  all  her  States,  and  mourns 

Her  dearest  youth.     This  is  no  feigned  tale : 

But  many  of  the  ills,  that  burst  upon  us 

In  dreadful  vengeance,  I  refrain  to  utter. 

Ckor.     O  Fortune,  heavy  with  affliction's  load, 
How  hath  thy  foot  crush'd  all  the  Persian  race  ! 

Atoss.    Ah  me,  what  sorrows  for  our  ruin'd  host 
Oppress  my  soul !     Ye  visions  of  the  night, 
Haunting  my  dreams,  how  plainly  did  you  show 
These  ills ! — You  set  them  in  too  fair  a  light. 
Yet  since  your  bidding  hath  in  this  prevail'd, 
First  to  the  gods  wish  I  to  pour  my  prayers 
Then  to  the  mighty  dead  present  my  off'rings, 
Bringing  libations  from  my  house :  too  late, 
I  know,  to  change  the  past ;  yet  for  the  future, 
If  haply  better  fortune  may  await  it, 
Behooves  you,  on  this  sad  event,  to  guide 
Your  friends  with  faithful  counsel.     Should  my  son 
Keturn  ere  I  have  finish'd,  let  your  voice 
Speak  comfort  to  him;   friendly  to  his  house 
Attend  him,  nor  let  sorrow  rise  on  sorrows. 


CHORUS. 
STROPHE. 

Awful  sovereign  of  the  skies, 

When  now  o'er  Persia's  numerous  host 

Thou  badest  the  storm  with  ruin  rise, 
All  her  proud  vaunts  of  glory  lost, 

Ecbatana's  imperial  head 
By  thee  was  wrapt  in  sorrow's  dark'ning  shade; 

Through  Susa's  palaces  with  loud  lament, 

By  their  soft  hands  their  veils  all  rent, 

The  copious  tear  the  virgins  pour, 

That  trickles  their  bare  bosoms  o'er. 
From  her  sweet  couch  up  starts  the  widow'd  bride, 

Her  lord's  loved  image  rushing  on  her  soul, 
Throws  the  rich  ornaments  of  youth  aside, 

And  gives  her  griefs  to  flow  without  control : 
Her  griefs  not  causeless  ;  for  the  mighty  slain 
Our  melting  tears  demand,  and  sorrow-soften'd  strain. 

ANTISTROPHE. 

$ow  her  wailings   wide  despair 
Pours  these  exhausted  regions  o'er: 

Xerxes,  ill  fated,  led  the  war  ; 
Xerxes,  ill-fated,  leads,  no  more ; 


525  A.C.]  AESCHYLUS.  267 

Xerxes  sent  forth  the  unwise  command, 
The  crowded  ships  unpeopled  all  the  land ; 

That  land,  o'er  which  Darius  held  his  reign, 

Courting  the  arts  of  peace,  in  vain, 

O'er  all  his  grateful  realm  adored, 

The  stately  Susa's  gentle  lord. 
Black  o'er  the  waves  his  burden'd  vessels  sweep, 

For  Greece  elate  the  warlike  squadrons  fly; 
Now  crush'd  and  whelm'd  beneath  the  indignant  deep 

The  shatter'd  wrecks  and  lifeless  heroes  lie: 
While,  from  the  arms  of  Greece  escaped,  with  toil 
The  unshelter'd  monarch  roams  o'er  Thracia's  dreary  soil. 

EPODE. 

The  first  in  battle  slain 
By  Cychrea's  craggy  shore 
Through  sad  constraint,  ah  me  I   forsaken  lie, 
All  pale  and  smear'd  with  gore : — 

Raise  high  the  mournful  strain, 
And  let  the  voice  of  anguish  pierce  the  sky: — 
Or  roll  beneath  the  roaring  tide, 

By  monsters  rent  of  touch  abhorr'd; 
"While  through  the  widowM  mansion  echoing  wide 

Sounds  the  deep  groan,  and  wails  its  slaughter'd  lord* 
.     Pale  with  his  fears  the  helpless  orphan  there 

Gives  the  full  stream  of  plaintive  grief  to  flow; 

While  age  its  hoary  head  in  deep  despair 

Bends,  list'ning  to  the  shrieks  of  woe. 

With  sacred  awe 

The  Persian  law 

No  more  shall  Asia's  realms  revere; 
To  their  lord's  hand 
At  his  command 

No  more  the  exacted  tribute  bear. 
Who  now  falls  prostrate  at  the  monarch's  throne? 

His  regal  greatness  is  no  more. 
Now  no  restraint  the  wanton  tongue  shall  own, 

Free  from  the  golden  curb  of  power ; 
For  on  the  rocks,  wash'd  by  the  beating  flood, 
His  awe-commanding  nobles  lie  in  blood. 


ATOSSA.— CHORUS. 

Atossa. — Whoe'r,  my  friends,  in  the  rough  stream  of  life 
Hath  struggled  with  affliction,  thence  is  taught 
That,  when  the  flood  begins  to  swell,  the  heart 
Fondly  fears  all  things;   when  the  fav'ring  gale 
Of  fortune  smooths  the  current,  it  expands 
With  unsuspecting  confidence,  and  deems 
That  gale  shall  always  breathe.     So  to  my  eyes 


268  uESCHYLUS.  [LECT.  X. 

All  things  now  wear  a  formidable  shape, 

And  threaten  from  the  gods :  my  ears  are  piere'd 

With  sounds  far  other  than  of  song.     Such  ills 

Dismay  my  sick'ning  soul:  hence  from  my  house 

Nor  glitt'ring  car  attends  me,  nor  the  train 

Of  wonted  state,  while  I  return,  and  bear 

Libations  soothing, — charms  that  soothe  the  dead: 

"White  milk,  and  lucid  honey,  pure-distill'd 

By  the  wild  bee — that  craftsman  of  the  flowers : 

The  limpid   droppings  of  the  virgin  fount, 

And  this  bright  liquid  from  its  mountain-mother 

Borne  fresh — the  joy  of  the  time-honored  vine: — 

The  pale-green  olive's  odorous  fruit,  whose  leaves 

Live  everlastingly — and  those  wreathed  flowers, 

The  smiling  infants  of  the  prodigal  earth. 


Kniun  fyt   fimtttlj. 


SOPHOCLES. 

IT  was  in  the  very  nature  of  the  Athenian  drama;  as  matured  and  per- 
fected by  .ZEschylus,  to  concentrate  and  absorb  almost  every  variety 
of  poetical  genius.  The  old  lyrical  poetry  ceased,  in  a  great  measure, 
when  tragedy  arose ;  or  rather,  tragedy  was  the  complete  development, 
the  new  and  perfected  consummation  of  the  Dithyrambic  ode.  Lyrical 
poetry  now  passed  into  the  choral  song,  as  the  epic  merged  into  the  dia- 
logue and  .plot  of  the  drama.  Hence,  at  Athens,  where  audiences  were 
numerous  and  readers  few,  every  man  who  felt  within  himself  the  inspi- 
ration of  the  poet,  would  necessarily  desire  to  see  his  poetry  put  into 
action — assisted  with  all  the  pomp  of  spectacle  and  music,  hallowed  by 
the  solemnity  of  a  religious  festival,  and  breathed  by  artists  elaborately 
trained  to  heighten  the  eloquence  of  words  into  the  reverent  ear  of  as- 
sembled Greece. 

..  The  career  of  Sophocles,  the  most  majestic  of  the  Greek  poets,  was 
eminently  felicitous.  His  birth  was  noble,  his  fortune  affluent ;  his  nat- 
ural gifts — genius  and  beauty — were  the  rarest  that  nature  bestows  on 
man.  All  the  care  which  the  age  permitted  was  lavished  on  his  educa- 
tion. For  his  feet  even,  the  ordinary  obstacles  in  the  path  of  distinction 
were  smoothed  away.  He  entered  life  under  auspices  the  most  propitious 
and  poetical.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  ne  headed  the  youths  who  performed 
the  triumphal  paean  round  the  trophy  of  Salamis.  At  twenty-five,  when 
the  bones  of  Theseus  were  borne  back  to  Athens  in  the  galley  of  the  vic- 
torious Cimon,  he  exhibited  his  first  play,  and  won  the  prize  from  JEschy- 
lus.  That  haughty  genius,  indignant  at  the  success  of  a  younger  rival, 
soon  after  retired,  as  we  have  already  observed,  from  Athens  to  Syra- 
cuse ;  and  though  he  thence  sent  some  of  his  dramas  to  the  Athenian 
stage,  the  absent  veteran  could  but  excite  less  enthusiasm  than  the  young 
aspirant,  whose  artful  and  polished  genius  was  more  in  harmony  with  the 
reigning  taste  than  the  vast  but  rugged  grandeur  of  j3£schylus.  Indeed, 


270  SOPHOCLES.  [LKOT.  XL 

it  was  impossible  for  ^Eschylus,  tangibly  and  visibly,  to  body  forth  the 
shadowy  Titans,  and  the  obscure  sublimity  of  his  designs ;  and  hence  he 
never  obtained  a  popularity  on  the  stage  equal  to  his  celebrity  as  a 
poet. 

For  sixty-three  years  Sophocles  continued  to  exhibit  dramas ;  twenty 
times  he  obtained  the  first  prize,  and  was  never  degraded  to  the  third. 
The  ordinary  persecutions  of  envy  itself  seem  to  have  spared  this  fortu- 
nate poet.  To  him  were  known  neither  the  mortifications  of  ^Eschylus, 
nor  the  relentless  mockery  heaped  upon  Euripides.  On  his  fair  name 
the  terrible  Aristophanes  himself  affixed  no  brand.  The  sweetness  of  his 
genius  extended  indeed  to  his  temper,  and  personal  popularity  assisted 
his  public  triumphs.  Nor  did  he  appear  to  have  keenly  shared  the  party 
animosities  of  the  day.  His  serenity,  however,  has  in  it  something^  of 
enviable  rather  than  honorable  indifference.  He  owed  his  first  distinction 
to  Cimon,  and  he  served  afterwards  under  Pericles :  on  his  entrance  into 
life,  he  led  the  youths  that  circled  the  trophy  of  Grecian  freedom ;  and 
on  the  verge  of  death,  he  calmly  assented  to  the  surrender  of  Athenian 
liberties.  Hence  Aristophanes,  perhaps,  mingled  more  truth  than  usual 
with  his  wit,  when  even  in  the  shades  below  he  says  of  Sophocles,  l  He 
was  contented  here — he  is  contented  there.'  A  disposition  thus  facile, 
united  with  an  admirable  genius,  will,  not  unfrequently,  effect  a  miracle, 
and  reconcile  prosperity  with  fame.  . 

Critics  have  greatly  erred  in  representing  ^Eschylus  and  Sophocles  as 
belonging  to  the  same  era,  and  referring  both  to  the  age  of  Pericles. 
These  two  great  poets  were  formed  under  the  influence  of  very  dif- 
ferent generations  ;  and  if  .ZEschylus  lived  through  the  early  part  of  the 
career  of 'Sophocles,  the  accident  of  longevity  by  no  means  warrants  us  in 
considering  them  the  children  of  the  same  age — the  creatures  of  the  same 
influences.  JEschylus  •  belonged  to  the  race  and  the  period  from  which 
emerged  Miltiades,  Themistocles  and  Aristides — Sophocles  to  those  which 
produced  Phidias,  Pericles,  and  Socrates ; — while  .ZEschylus,  from  the 
grandeur  and  sublimity  of  his  genius  might  be  called  the  Miltiades,  So- 
phocles, from  the  calmness  of  his  disposition,  and  the  "symmetry  and 
stateliness  of  his  genius,  might  be  entitled  the  Pericles  of  poetry. 

Sophocles  was  a  native  of  the  Attic  village  of  Colonus,  which  was 
situated  within  a  mile  of  the  city  of  Athens,  and  the  scenery  and  relig- 
ious associations  of  which  have  been  described  by  the  poet,  in  his  last,  and 
perhaps  his  greatest  work,  in  a  manner  which  shows  how  powerful  an  in- 
fluence his  birth-place  exercised  on  the  whole  current  of  his  genius.  The 
date  of  his  birth,  according  to  the  most  reliable  authorities,  was  495  A.C. 
His  father's  name  was  Sophilus,  but  with  regard  to  his  condition  in  life,  we 
have  many  very  contradictory  accounts.  According  to  Aristoxenus,  he 
was  a  carpenter  or  smith  ;  and,  according  to  Ister,  he  was  a  sword-maker. 


495  A.D.]  SOPHOCLES.  2Yl 

The  probability  is,  however,  that  Sophilus  followed  neither  of  these 
trades  himself,  but  that,  as  was  very  common  at  that  time  in  Athens,  he 
possessed  a  number  of  slaves,  some  of  whom  may  have  been  employed  in 
either  of  those  branches  of  handicraft.  This  idea  is  countenanced  by  the 
sequel  of  Sophocles'  own  life ;  for  it  is  not  probable  that  the  son  of  a 
common  artificer  should  have  been  associated  in  military  command  with 
the  first  men  of  the  State,  such  as  Pericles  and  Thucydides,  and  also  be* 
cause,  if  he  had  been  low-born,  the  comic  poets  would  not  have  failed  to 
expose  the  fact,  and  attack  him  on  that  ground.  To  our  own  mind  these 
arguments  are  entirely  conclusive;  for  the  proud  Athenians  were  too 
tenacious  to  preserve  the  distinctions  of  birth,  to  permit  them  to  bel 
under  any  circumstances,  disregarded. 

But  whatever  may  have  been  the  condition  of  Sophocles'  parents,  it 
is  evident  that  he  received  an  education  not  inferior  to  that  of  the  sons 
of  the  most  distinguished  citizens  of  Athens.  To  both  of  the  two  leading 
branches  of  Greek  education,  music  and  gymnastics,  he  was  carefully 
trained,  in  company  with  the  boys  of  his  own  age,  and  in  each  he  gained 
the  prize  of  a  garland.  Of  the  skill  which  he  had  attained  in  music  and 
dancing  in  his  sixteenth  year,  and  of  the  perfection  of  his  bodily  form, 
we  have  conclusive  evidence  in  the  fact  that,  when  the  Athenians  were 
assembled  in  solemn  festival  around  the  trophy  which  they  had  set  up  in 
Salamis  to  -celebrate  their  victory  over  the  fleet  of  Xerxes,  Sophocles  was 
chosen  to  lead,  naked  and  with  lyre  in  hand,  the  chorus  which  danced 
about  the  trophy  and  sung  the  song  of  triumph.  In  music  Sophocles 
was  instructed  by  the  celebrated  Lamprus,  and  he  is  said,  by  one  of  his 
biographers,  to  have  learned  the  art  of  tragedy  from  no  less  an  instructor 
than  ^Eschylus ;  but  this  latter  statement  means  nothing  more  than  that 
Sophocles,  having  received  the  art  in  the  form  to  which  it  had  been  ad- 
vanced by  jEschylus,  made  in  it  other  improvements  of  his  own. 

Having  attained  the  twenty-seventh  year  of  his  age,  and  completed 
his  preparatory  studies,  Sophocles  now  prepared  to  make  his  first  appear- 
ance as  a  dramatist.  The  circumstances  were  peculiarly  interesting ;  not 
only  from  the  fact  that  Sophocles,  a  comparative  youth,  came  forward  as 
the  rival  of  the  veteran  oEschylus,  whose  supremacy  had  been  maintained 
during  an  entire  generation,  but  also  from  the  character  of  the  judges. 
It  was,  in  reality,  a  contest  between  the  new  and  the  old  styles  of  tragic 
poetry,  in  which  the  competitors  were  the  greatest  dramatists,  with  the 
single  exception  of  Shakspeare,  that  ever  wrote,  and  the  umpires  were 
the  first  men,  in  position  and  education,  of  a  State  in  which  almost  every 
citizen  had  a  nice  perception  of  the  beauties  of  poetry  and  art.  The 
solemnities  of  the  Great  Dionysia  were  rendered  more  imposing  by  the 
return  of  Cimon  from  his  expedition  to  Scyros,  bringing  with  him  the 
Bones  of  Theseus,  the  founder  of  tl^  Attican  confederacy.  Public  ex- 
pectation was  so  excited  respecting  the  approaching  dramatic  contest, 


272  SOPHOCLES.  [LECT.  XL 

and  party-feeling  ran  so  high,  that  Apsephion,  the  Archon  Eponymus, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  appoint  the  judges,  had  not  yet  ventured  to  proceed 
to  the  final  act  of  drawing  the  lots  for  their  election,  when  Cimou,  with 
his  nine  colleagues  in  the  command,  having  entered  the  theatre,  and 
made  the  customary  libations  to  Dionysus,  the  Archon  detained  them 
at  the  altar,  and  administered  to  them  the  oath  appointed  for  the  judges 
in  the  dramatic  contests.  After  much  deliberation,  the  decision  was  in 
favor  of  Sophocles,  and  the  first  prize  was  accordingly  bestowed  upon 
him.  JEschylus,  though  the  second  prize  was  awarded  to  him,  was  so 
much  mortified  at  his  defeat,  that,  as  has  already  been  observed,  he  soon 
after  left  Athens  and  retired  to  Sicily.  The  drama  which  Sophocles  ex- 
hibited on  this  occasion  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  Triptolemus,  and 
to  have  had  for  its  principal  subject  the  institution  of  the  Eleusiniau 
mysteries,  and  the  establishment  of  the  worship  of  Demeter  at  Athens. 

The  date  of  this  contest  between  Sophocles  and  jEschylus  was  468 
A.C. ;  and  from  that  period  the  former,  for  nearly  thirty  years,  held,  un- 
interruptedly, the  supremacy  of  the  Athenian  stage.  The  year  440  A.C. 
may  be  regarded  as  the  most  important  in  the  poet's  life.  In  the  spring 
of  that  year  he  brought  out  the  earliest  and  one  of  the  best  of  his  extant 
dramas — the  Antigone — a  play  which  afforded  the  Athenians  such  satis- 
faction, especially  on  account  of  the  political  wisdom  it  displayed,  that 
they  appointed  him  one  of  the  ten  Strategi,  of  whom  Pericles  was  the 
chief,  in  the  war  against  the  aristocratical  faction  of  Samos.  The  event 
occurred  when  Sophocles  was  fifty-five  years  of  age,  and  seven  years  be- 
fore the  commencement  of  the  Peloponnesian  war. 

Sophocles'  genius  was  not,  however,  adapted  to  military  pursuits,  and 
he,  therefore,  neither  obtained  nor  sought  for  any  military  reputation : " 
he  would  often  good-humoredly  repeat  the  judgment  of  Pericles  concern- 
ing him,  that  he  understood  the  making  of  poetry,  but  not  the  commanding 
of  an  army.  From  an  anecdote  preserved  by  Athenseus  from  the  Travels 
of  the  poet  Ion,  it  appears  that  §ophocles  was  engaged  in  bringing  up 
the  reinforcements  from  Chios,  and  that,  amidst  the  occupations  of  his 
military  command,  he  preserved  his  woated  tranquillity  of  mind,  and 
found  leisure  to  gratify  his  voluptuous  tastes,  and  to  delight  his  com- 
rades with  his  calm  and  pleasant  conversation  at  their  banquets.  Indeed 
Sophocles,  according  to  Plutarch,  wag  not  ashamed  to  confess  that  he  had 
no  claim  to  military  distinction ;  for,  when  he  was  serving  with  Nicias, 
probably  in  the  Sicilian  expedition,  upon  being  asked  by  that  general  his 
opinion  first,  in  a  council  of  war,  as  being  the  oldest  of  the  Strategi,  he 
replied,  '  I  indeed  am  the  oldest  in  years,  but  you  in  counsel.' 

One  of  the  most  interesting  incidents  connected  with  this  period  of  the 
life  of  Sophocles,  is  the  opportunit^it  afforded  him  of  forming  an  inti- 
macy with  Herodotus,  the  father  of  history.  Herodotus  was  still  resid- 


495A.C.]  SOPHOCLES.  273 

ing  at  Samos  when  Sophocles  sailed  thither  with  the  Athenian  troops  ; 
and,  according  to  Plutarch,  so  familiar  an  intercourse  subsisted  between 
the  great  poet  and»the  historian  during  the  stay  of  the  former  in  the  is- 
land, that,  before  he  left,  he  composed  a  complimentary  poem  for  Herod- 
otus, and  in  it  inserted  his  own  age.  To  sustain  this  intimacy,  Herodo- 
tus afterwards  made  his  visits  to  Athens  very  frequent ;  and  the  influ- 
ence of  the  familiar  intercourse  between  the  poet  and  the  historian  may 
be  still  traced  in  those  striking  parallelisms  in  their  works  which  naturally 
arose  out  of  their  mutual  a4miration  of  each  other's  genius. 

The  latter  part  of  the  life  of  Sophocles,  extending  from  the  fifty-sixth 
year  of  his  age  till  his  death,  and  embracing  a  period  of  thirty-four 
years,  was  that  of  his  greatest  poetical  activity,  and  to  it  belong  all  his 
extant  dramas.  Respecting  his  personal  history,  however,  during  this 
period,  we  have  scarcely  any  details.  The  excitement  of  the  Pelopon- 
nesian  war  seems  to  have  had  no  other  influence  upon  him  than  to  stimu- 
late his  literary  efforts  by  the  new  impulse  which  it  gave  to  the  in- 
tellectual activity  of  the  age  ;  until  that  disastrous  period  after  the  Sici- 
lian expedition,  when  the  reaction  of  unsuccessful  war  abroad  led  to 
anarchy  at  home.  Then  we  find  him,  like  others  of  the  chief  .literary 
men  of  Athens,  joining  in  the  desperate  attempt  to  stay  the  ruin  of  their 
country  by  means  of  an  aristocratic  revolution  ;  although  Sophocles  took 
no  other  part  in  this  movement,  than  to  assent  to  it  as  a  measure  of  pub- 
lic safety.  When  the  Athenians,  on  receiving  the  news  of  the  utter  de- 
struction of  their  Sicilian  army,  appointed  ten  of  the  elders  of  the  city,  as 
a  sort  of  committee  of  public  salvation,  Sophocles  was  one  of  the  number. 
As  he  was  then  in  his  eighty-third  year,  it  is  not  probable,  however,  that 
he  took  any  active  part  in  their  proceedings,  or  that  he  was  chosen  for 
any  other  reason  than  for  the  authority  of  his  name. 

But  whatever  may  have  been  Sophocles'  connection  with  the  establish- 
ment of  the  oligarchical  Council  of  Four  Hundred,  in  411  A.C.,  one 
thing  at  least,  as  to  his  political  principles,  is  evident,  and  that  is,  that 
he  was  an  ardent  lover  of  his  country.  The  patriotic  sentiments  which 
we  still  admire  in  his  poems,  were  fully  illustrated  by  his  own  conduct ; 
for,  unlike  Simonides  and  Pindar,  -^Eschylus,  Euripides,  and  Plato,  and 
others  of  the  greatest  poets  and  philosophers  of  Greece,  Sophocles  would 
never  condescend  to  accept  the  patronage  of  monarchs,  or  to  leave  his 
country  in  compliance  with  their  repeated  invitations.  His  aifections 
were  fixed  upon  the  land  that  had  produced  the  heroes  of  Marathon  and 
Salamis,  whose  triumphs  were  associated  with  his  earliest  recollections ; 
and  his  eminently  religious  spirit  loved  to  dwell  upon  the  sacred  city  of 
Athens,  and  the  hallowed  groves  of  his  sacred  Colonus.  In  his  latter 
days  he  filled  the  office  of  priest  to  Halon,  a  native  hero,  and  the  gods 
are  said  to  have  rewarded  his  devotion  by  granting  him  supernatural  re- 
velations. 

18 


274  SOPHOCLES.  [LKCT.  XI. 

Towards  the  close  of  his  life  Sophocles  was  subjected  to  one  of  the 
severest  and  most  unnatural  trials  that  his  sensitive  nature  could  have 
been  summoned  to  bear.  His  family  consisted  of  two^  sons,  lophon,  the 
offspring  of  Nicostrate,  a  free  woman  of  Athens,  and  Ariston,  by 
Theoris,  a  native  of  Sicyon :  he  had  also  a  grandson  named  Sophocles, 
the  son  of  Ariston,  for  whom  he  showed  the  greatest  affection.  lophon 
who  was,  by  the  laws  of  Athens,  his  father's  rightful  heir,  jealous  of  So- 
phocles' love  for  the  son  of  Ariston,  and  apprehensive  that  he  intended 
to  bestow  upon  him  a  large  proportion  of  his  property,  had  him  cited 
before  a  certain  court  that  had  jurisdiction  in  family  affairs,  to  answer  to 
the  charge  of  insanity.  As  his  only  reply,  Sophocles  exclaimed,  '  If  I 
am  Sophocles,  I  am  not  beside  myself;  and  if  I  am  beside  myself,  I  am 
not  Sophocles ;'  and  then  proceeded  to  read  from  his  (Edipus  at  Co- 
Zonus,  which  he  had  recently  written,  but  had  not  yet  brought  out,  one  of 
its  most  magnificent  passages,  upon  which  the  judges  not  only  at  once  dis- 
missed the  case,  but  also  severely  rebuked  lophon  for  his  undutiful  and 
unnatural  conduct.  To  this  incident,  and  to  the  forgiveness  of  his  son, 
Sophocles  is  supposed  to  allude,  in  the  lines  in  the  '  (Edipus  at  Colonus,' 
where  Antigone  pleads  with  her  father,  Polynices,  as  other  fathers  had 
been  induced  to  forgive  their  bad  children. 

The  various  accounts  of  the  circumstances  attending  the  death  and 
burial  of  Sophocles  are  very  conflicting,  and  bear  a  fictitious  and  poetical 
aspect.  According  to  Ister  and  Neanthes,  he  was  choked  by  a  grape ; 
while  Satyrus  relates  that  in  a  public  recitation  of  the  Antigone  he  sus- 
tained his  voice  so  long  without  a  pause  that,  through  the  weakness  of 
extreme  old  age,  he  lost  his  breath  and  his  life  together;  and  others 
ascribe  his  death  to  the  excessive  joy  which  the  obtaining  of  his  last  po- 
etic prize  produced.  But  whatever  may  have  been  the  immediate  cause 
of  his  death,  it  is  certain  that  he  lived  to  pass  the  ninetieth  year  of  his 
age,  and  that  so  great  was  the  respect  in  which  the  Athenians  held  his 
memory,  that  for  many  years  after  they  honored  it  with  an  annual  sacri- 
fice. 

By  the  universal  consent  of  the  best  critics,  of  both  ancient  and  mod- 
ern times,  the  tragedies  of  Sophocles  are  not  only  the  perfection  of  the 
Greek  drama;  but  they  approach,  as  nearly  as  is  conceivable,  to  the  per- 
fect ideal. model  of  that  species  of  poetry.  Such  a  point  of  perfection,  in 
any  art,  is  always  the  result  of  a  combination  of  causes,  of  which  the 
internal  impulse  of  the  author's  own  creative  genius  is  but  one.  The  ex- 
ternal influences  which  determine  the  direction  of  that  genius,  and  give 
the  opportunity  for  its  manifestations,  must  be  most  carefully  considered. 
Among  these  influences,  none  is  more  powerful  than  the  political  and 
intellectual  character  of  the  age. 


495  A.C.]  SOPHOCLES.  275 

That  point, — iji  the  language  of  Philip  Smith — in  the  history  of  states, 
— in  which  the  minds  of  men,  newly  set  free  from  traditional  dogmatic 
systems,  have  not  yet  been  given  up  to  the  vagaries  of  unbridled  specula- 
tions— in  which  religious  objects  and  ideas  are  still  looked  upon  with  rev- 
erence, but  no  longer  worshipped  at  a  distance,  as  too  solemn  and  myste- 
rious for  a  free  and  rational  contemplation — in  which  a  newly-recovered 
freedom  is  valued  in  proportion  to  the  order  which  forms  its  rule  and 
sanction,  and  license  has  not  yet  overpowered  law — in  which  man  firmly, 
but  modestly,  puts  forward  his  claim  to  be  his  own  ruler  and  his  own 
priest,  to  think  and  work  for  himself  and  for  his  country,  controlled  only 
by  those  laws  which  are  needful  to  hold  society  together,  and  to  subject 
individual  energy  to  the  public  welfare — in  which  successful  war  has 
roused  the  spirit,  quickened  the  energies,  and  increased  the  resources  of 
a  people,  but  prosperity  and  faction  have  not  yet  corrupted  the  heart  and 
dissolved  the  bonds  of  society — when  the  taste,  the  leisure,  and  the 
wealth,  which  demand  and  encourage  the  means  of  refined  pleasure,  have 
not  yet  been  indulged  to  that  degree  of  exhaustion  which  requires  more 
exciting  and  unwholesome  stimulants — such  is  the  period  which  brings 
forth  the  most  perfect  productions  in  literature  and  art ;  such  was  the 
period  which  gavje  birth  to  Sophocles  and  Phidias. 

To  these  external  influences,  which  affected  the  spirit  of  the  drama  as 
it  appears  in  Sophocles,  must  be  added  the  changes  in  its  form  and  mech-« 
anism,  which  enlarged  its  sphere  and  modified  its  character.  Of  tnese 
changes,  the  most  important  was  the  addition  of  the  third  actor,  by  which 
three  persons  were  allowed  to  appear  on  the  stage  at  once,  instead  of  only 
two.  This  change  vastly  enlarged  the  scope  of  the  dramatic  action,  and, 
indeed,  as  Miiller  justly  observes, l  it  appeared  to  accomplish  all  that  was 
necessary  to  the  variety  and  mobility  of  action  in  tragedy,  without  sacri- 
ficing that  simplicity  and  clearness  which,  in  the  good  ages  of  antiquity, 
were  always  held  to  be  the  most  essential  qualities.'  By  the  addition  of 
this  third  actor,  the  chief  person  of  the  drama  was  brought  under  two 
conflicting  influences,  by  the  force  of  which  both  sides  of  his  character 
are  at  once  displayed ;  as  in  the  scene  where  Antigone  has  to  contend  at 
the  same  time  with  the  weakness  of  Ismene  and  the  tyranny  of  Creon. 
Even  those  scenes  in  which  only  two  actors  appear  are  more  significant 
by  their  relation  to  the  parts  of  the  drama  in  which  the  action  combines 
all  three. 

Sophocles  also  introduced  some  very  important  modifications  into  the 
choral  parts  of  the  drama — raising,  according  to  Suidas,  the  number  of" 
the  chorus  from  twelve,  to  fifteen :  he  also  curtailed  the  choral  odes, 
which,  in  the  tragedies  of  ^Eschylus,  occupied  a  large  space,  and  formed 
a  sort  of  lyric  exhibition  of  the  subject,  interwoven  with  the  dramatic 
representation.  His  choruses  also  are  less  closely  connected  with  the 
genera)  subject  and  progress  of  the  drama  than  those  of  .ZEschylus.  In 


276  SOPHOCLES.  [LECT.  XI. 

JEschylus  the  chorus  is  a  deeply  interested  party,  often  taking  a  decided 
and  even  vehement  share  in  the  action,  and  generally  involved  in  the  ca- 
tastrophe ;  but  the  chorus  of  Sophocles  has  more  of  the  character  of  a 
spectator,  moderator,  and  judge,  comparatively  impartial,  but  sympa- 
thising generally  with  the  chief  character  of  the  play,  while  it  explains 
and  harmonizes,  as  far  as  possible,  the  feelings  of  all  the  actors. 

By  such  changes  as  these  Sophocles  made  the  tragedy  a  drama,  in  the 
proper  sense  of  the  word.  The  interest  and  progress  of  the  piece  centered 
almost  entirely  in  the  actions  and  speeches  of  the  persons  on  the  stage. 
A  necessary  consequence  of  this  alteration,  combined  with  the  addition 
of  the  third  actor,  was  a  much  more  careful  elaboration  of  the  dialogue  \ 
and  the  care  bestowed  upon  this  part  of  the  composition,  is  one  of  the 
most  striking  features  of  the  art  of  Sophocles,  whether  we  regard  the 
energy  and  point  of  the  conversations  which  take  place  upon  the  stage, 
or  the  vivid  pictures  of  actions  occurring  elsewhere,  which  are  drawn  in 
the  speeches  of  the  messengers.  It  must  not,  however,  be  imagined  that, 
in  bestowing  so  much  care  upon  the  dialogue,  and  confining  their  choral 
parts  within  their  proper  limits,  Sophocles  was  careless  as  to  the  mode 
in  which  he  executed  the  latter.  On  the  contrary,  he  appears  as  if  deter- 
mined to  use  his  utmost  efforts  to  compensate,  in  the  beauty  of  his  odes, 
for  what  he  had  taken  away  from  them  in  their  length.  His  early  at- 
tainments in  music — the  period,  in  which  his  lot  was  cast,  when  the  great 
cycle  of  lyric  poetry  had  been  completed,  and  he  could  take  Simonides  and 
Pindar  as  the  starting  point  of  his  efforts — the  maje-stic  choral  poetry  of 
his  great  predecessor  jEschylus,  which  he  regarded  rather  as  a  standard  to 
be  surpassed,  than  as  a  pattern  to  be  imitated — combined  with*  his  own 
genius  and  exquisite  taste,  to  give  birth  to  those  brief  but  perfect  effusions 
of  lyric  poetry,  the  undisturbed  enjoyment  of  which  was  reckoned  by  Aris- 
tophanes as  among  the  choicest  fruits  of  peace. 

The  last  improvement  that  we  shall  notice,  made  by  Sophocles  upon 
the  representation. of  the  drama,  though  merely  mechanical  in  its  nature, 
was  of  the  utmost  importance — the  introduction  of  painted  scenes  adapted 
to  the  localities  of  the  play  exhibited.  The  invention  of  scene-painting  is 
expressly  attributed  to  Sophocles,  by  Aristotle ;  and  the  advantages  which 
its  introduction  gave  him  over  his  great  predecessor,  must  be  too  obvious 
to  need  any  illustration. 

All  these  external  and  formal  arrangements  had  necessarily  the  most 
important  influence  on  the  whole  spirit  and  character  of  the  tragedies  of 
Sophocles ;  as  in  the  works  of  the  first-rate  artist,  the  form  is  an  essential 
part  of  the  substance.  But  not  to  dwell  any  longer  on  the  various  char- 
acteristics of  the  great  dramatist,  we  shall  proceed  to  illustrate  our  re- 
marks by  analysing  some  of  his  extant  plays,  and  selecting  extracts  from 
others. 


495  A.C.]  .          SOPHOCLES.  277 

Sophocles,  according  to  Suidas,  was  the  author  of  one  hundred  and 
thirteen  dramas,  comprising  both  tragedies  and  satirical  plays.  Of  these 
dramas  seven  tragedies  have  been  preserved  ;  and  from  the  estimation  in 
which  these  were  held  by  the  ancients,  we  may  naturally  infer  that  they 
were  amongst  the  most  valuable  of  his  productions.  Miiller-  places  them 
in  the  following  chronological  order  : — Antigone,  Ekctra,  Trachinian 
Women,  King  (Edipus,  Ajax,  Philoctetes,  and  (Edipus  at  Colonus. 

The  '  Antigone'  turns  entirely  on  the  contest  between  the  interests  and 
requirements  of  the  State,  and  the  rights  and  duties  of  the  family. 
Thebes  has  successfully  repulsed  the  attack  of  the  Argive  army ;  but  Po- 
lynices,  one  of  her  citizens,  and  a  member  of  the  Theban  royal  family,  lies 
dead  before  the  walls  among  the  enemies  who  had  threatened  Thebes  with 
fire  and  sword.  Creon,  the  king  of  Thebes,  only  follows  a  custom  of  the 
Greeks,  the  object  of  which  was  to  preserve  a  State  from  the  attacks  of  its 
own  citizens,  when  he  leaves  the  enemy  of  his  native  land  unburied,  as  a 
prey  to  dogs  and  vultures ;  yet  the  manner  in  which  he  keeps  up  this  polit- 
ical principle,  the  excessive  severity  of  the  punishment  denounced  against 
those  who  wished  to  bury  the  corpse,  the  terrible  threats  addressed  to  those 
who  watched  it,  and,  still  more,  the  boastful  and  violent  strains  in  which  he 
sets  forth  and  extols  his  own  principles — all  this  gives  us  a  proof  of  that 
infatuation  of  a  narrow  mind,  unenlightened  by  gentleness  of  a  higher 
nature,  which  appeared  to  the  Greeks  to  contain  in  itself  a  foreboding  of 
approaching  misfortune.  But  what  was  to  be  done  by  the  relations  of  the 
dead  man,  the  females  in  his  family,  on  whom  the  care  of  the  corpse  was 
imposed  as  a  religious  duty,  by  the  universal  law  of  the  Greeks  ?  That 
they  shall  feel  their  duty  to  the  family  in  all  its  force,  and  not  compre- 
hend what  they  owed  to  the  State;  is  in  accordance  with  the  natural  char- 
acter of  women ;  but  while  the  one  sister,  Ismene,  only  sees  the  impossi- 
bility of  performing  the  former  duty,  the  great  soul  of  Antigone  fires  with 
the  occasion,  and  forms  resolves  of  the  greatest  boldness.  Defiance  begets 
defiance :  Creon's  harsh  decree  calls  forth  in  her  breast  the  most  obstinate, 
inflexible  self-will,  which  disregards  all  consequences,  and  despises  all 
gentler  means.  In  this  consists  her  guilt,  which  Sophocles  does  not  con- 
ceal;  on  the  contrary,  he  brings  it  prominently  Before  us,  and  especially 
in  the  choruses ;  but  the  very  reason  why  Antigone  is  so  highly  tragical 
a  character  is  this,  that  notwithstanding  the  crime  she  has  committed, 
she  appears  to  us  so  great  and  so  amiable.  The  sentinel's  description  of 
her,  how  she  came  to  the  corpse  in  the  burning  heat  o/  the  sun,  while  a 
scorching  whirlwind  was  throwing  all  nature  into  confusion,  and  tow  she 
raised  a  shrill  cry  of  woe  when  she  saw  that  the  earth  she  had  scattered 
over  it  had  been  taken  away,  is  a  picture  of  a  being,  who,  possessed  by 
an  ethereal  idea  as  by  an  irresistible  law  of  nature,  blindly  follows  her 
own  noble  impulses. 

It  must,  however,  be  remembered  that  it  is  not  the  tragical  end  of  this 


278  SOPHOCLES.  [LECT.  XL 

great  and  noble  creature,  but  the  disclosure  of  Creon's  infatuation,  which 
forms  the  general  object  of  the  tragedy ;  and  that,  although  Sophocles 
considered  Antigone  as  going  beyond  what  women  should  dare,  he  lays 
much  more  stress  on  the  truth — there  is  something  holy  without  and 
above  the  State,  to  which  the  State  should  pay  respect  and  reverence — a 
doctrine  which  Antigone  herself  declares  with  irresistible  truth  and  sub- 
limity. Every  movement  in  the  course  of  this  piece,  which' could  shake 
Creon  in  the  midst  of  his  madness,  and  open  his  eyes  to  his  own  situation, 
turns  upon  this,  and  is  especially  directed  to  him  : — the  noble  security 
with  which  Antigone,  relies  on  the. holiness  of  her  deed  ;  the  sisterly  affec- 
tion of  Ismene,  who  would  willingly  share  the  consequences  of  the  act  \ 
the  loving  zeal  of  Hsemon,  who  is  at  first  prudent  and  then  desperate ; 
the  warnings  of  Tiresias  : — all  are  in  vain,  till  the  latter  breaks  out  into 
those  prophetic  threatenings  of  misfortune  which  at  last,  when  it  is  too 
late,  penetrate  Creon's  hardened  heart.  Hsemon  slays  himself  on  the 
body  of  Antigone,  the  death  of  the  mother  follows  that  of  her  son,  and 
Creon  is  compelled  to  acknowledge  that  there  are  blessings  in  one's 
family,  for  which  no  political  wisdom  is  an  adequate  substitute. 

A  few  detached  passages  is  all  that  our  space  will  allow  us  to  present 
of  this  important  and  interesting  production.  Antigone  having  been  dis- 
covered in  her  second  attempt  to  bury  the  remains  of  her  brother,  is 
brought  before  the  tyrant,  and  the  following  scene  is  presented  : 

CREON.— ANTIGONE.— CHORUS. 

Or.  Answer  then, —  » 

Bending  thy  head  to  earth,  dost  thou  confess, 
Or  canst  deny  the  charge  ? 

Ant.  I  do  confess  it 

Freely ;   I  scorn  to  disavow  the  act. 

Or.     Reply  with  answer  brief  to  one  plain  question, 
Without  evasion.     Didst  thou  know  the  law, 
That  none  should  do  this  deed? 

Ant.  I  knew  it  well: 

How  could  I  fail  to  know ;   it  was  most  plain. 

Cr.    Didst  thou  then  dare  transgress  our  royal  mandate? 

Ant.     Ne'er  did  eternal  Jove  such  laws  ordain, 
Or  Justice,  throned  amid  th'  infernal  powers, 
Who  on  mankind  these  holier  rites  imposed, — 
Nor  can  I  deem  thine  edict  armed  with  power, 
To  contravene  the  firm  unwritten  laws 
Of  the  just  gods,  thyself  a  weak  frail  mortal  1 
These  are  no  laws  of  yesterday, — they  live 
For  evermore,  and  none  can  trace  their  birth. 
I  would  not  dare,  by  mortal  threat  appalled, 
To  violate  their  sanction,  and  incur 
The  vengeance  of  the  gods.    I  knew  before 


495  A. C.]  SOPHOCLES  279 

That  I  must  die,  though  thou  hadst  ne'er  proclaim'd  it, 

And  if  I  perish  ere  th'  allotted  term, 

I  deem  that  death  a  blessing.     Who  that  lives, 

Like  me,  encompassed  by  unnumbered  ills, 

But  would  account  it  blessedness  to  die? 

If  then  I  meet  the  doom  thy  laws  assign, 

It  nothing  grieves  me.     Had  I  left  my  brother, 

From  my  own  mother  sprung,  on  the  bare  earth 

To  lie  unburied,  that  indeed  might  grieve  me ; 

But  for  this  deed  I  mourn  not.     If  to  thee 

Mine  actions  seem  unwise,  'tis  thine  own  soul 

That  errs  from  wisdom,  when  it  deems  me  senseless. 

Ch.    This  maiden  shows  her  father's  stubborn  soul,     fffrjb 
And  scorns  to  bend  beneath  misfortune's  power. 

Cr.    Yet  thou  might'st  know,  that  loftiest  spirits  oft  Y*-\  • 
Are  bowed  to  deepest  shame ;  and  thou  might'st  mark 
The  hardest  metal  soft  and  ductile  made 
By  the  resistless  energy  of  flame ; 
Oft,  too,  the  fiery  courser  have  I  seen 
By  a  small  bit  constrained.     High  arrogant  thoughts 
Beseem  not  one,  whose  duty  is  submission. 
In  this  presumption  she  was  lessoned  first 
When  our  imperial  laws  she  dared  to  spurn, 
And  to  that  insolent  wrong  fresh  insult  adds, 
In  that  she  glories,  vaunting  of  the  deed. 
Henceforth  no  more  deem  mine  a  manly  soul ; — 
Concede  that  name  to  hers,  if  from  this  crime 
She  shall  escape  unpunished.     Though  she  spring 
From  our  own  sister,  she  shall  not  evade 
A  shameful  deatibt. 

Ant.  And  welcome  !    Whence  could  I 

Obtain  a  holier  praise  than  by  committing 
My  brother  to  the  tomb  ?     These,  too,  I  know 
Would  all  approve  the  action,  but  that  fear 
Curbs  their  free  thoughts  to  base  and  servile  silence ; 
But  'tis  the  noble  privilege  of  tyrants 
To  say  and  do  whate'er  their  lordly  will, 
Their  only  law,  may  prompt. 

Cr.  Of  all  the  Thebans 

Dost  thou  alone  see  this  ? 

Ant.  They,  too,  behold  it, 

But  fear  constrains  them  to  an  abject  silence. 

Cr.    Doth  it  not  shame  thee  to  dissent  from  these  ? 

Ant.    I  cannot  think  it  shame  to  love  my  brother. 

Cr.    Was  not  he  'too,  who  died  for  Thebes,  thy  brother  ? 

Ant.    He  was;  and  of  the  self-same  parents  born. 

Cr.    Why  then  dishonor  him  to  grace  the  guilty  ? 

Ant.    The  dead  entombed  will  not  attest  thy  words. 

Cr.    Yes ;  if  thou  honor  with  an  equal  doom 
That  impious  wretch. 

Ant.  He  did  not  fall  a  slave, 

He  was  my  brother. 


280  SOPHOCLES.  [LEOT.  XL 

Or.  Yet  he  wronged  his  country; 

The  other  fought  undaunted  in  her  cause. 

Ant.    Still  death  at  least  demands  an  equal  law. 

Cr.    Ne'er  should  the  base  be  honored  like  the  noble. 

Ant.     Who  knows,  if  this  be  holy  in  the  shades  ? 

Cr.    Death  cannot  change  a  foe  into  a  friend. 

Ant.    My  nature  tends  to  mutual  love,  not  hatred. 

Cr. .  Then  to  the  grave,  and  love  them,  if  thou  must. 
But  while  I  live  no  woman  shall  bear  sway. 

CHORUS. 
STROPHE   I. 
What  blessedness  is  theirs,  whose  earthly  date 

Glides  unembittered  by  the  taste  of  woel 
But  when  a  house  is  struck  by  angry  Fate, 

Through  all  its  line  what  ceaseless  miseries  flowl 
As  .when  from  Thrace  rude  whirlwinds  sweep, 
And  in  thick  darkness  wrap  the  yawning  deep, 
Conflicting  surges  on  the  strand 
Dash  the  black  mass  of  boiling  sand 
Rolled  from  the  deep  abyss, — the  rocky  shore, 
Struck  by  the  swollen  tide,  reverberates  the  roar. 

ANTISTROPHE   I. 
I  see  the  ancient  miseries  of  thy  race, 

O  Labdacus!  arising  from  the  dead 
With  fresh  despair ;  nor  sires  from  sons  efface 

The  curse  some  angry  power  hath  rivetted 
Forever  on  thy  destined  linel 
Once  more  a  cheering  radiance  seemed  to  shine 
O'er  the  last  relic  of  thy  name ; — 
This,  too,  the  Powers  of  Darkness  claim, 
Cut  off  by  Hell's  keen  scythe  combined 
With  haughty  words  unwise,  and  frenzy  of  the  mind. 

STROPHE   II. 

Can  mortal  arrogance  restrain* 

Thy  matchless  might,  imperial  Jove  I 
Which  all-subduing  sleep  assaults  in  vain, 

And  months  celestial,  as  they  move, 
In  never-wearied  train  : — 

Spurning  the  power  of  age,  enthroned  in  might, 
Thou  dwell'st  'mid  heaven's  broad  light. 
This  was,  in  ages  past,  thy  firm  decree, 
Is  now,  and  must  forever  be ; 
That  none  of  mortal  race  on  earth  shall  know, 
A  life  of  joy  serene,  a  course  unmarked  by  woe. 

ANTISTROPHE.    II. 
Hope  beams  with  ever-varying  ray; 
Now  fraught  with  blessings  to  mankind, 


495  A.C.]  .  SOPHOCLES.  281 

Now  with  vain  dreams  that  lure  but  to  betray  ;— 

And  man  pursues,  with  ardor  blind, 
Her  still  deluding  way, 
Till  on  the  latent  flame  he  treads  dismayed. 
Wisely  the  sage  hath  said, 

And  time  hath  proved  his  truth,  that  when  by  heaven 
To  woe  man's  darkened  soul  is  driven, 
Evil  seems  good  to  his  distorted  mind, 
Till  soon  he  meets  and  mourns  the  doom  by  fate  assigned. 
But  lo !  the  youngest  of  thy  sons, 
Haemon  advances — comes  he  wrung  with  grief 
For  the  impending  doom 
Of  his  fair  plighted  bride,  Antigone, 
And  mourning  much  his  blasted  nuptial  joys  1 

Enter  HJEMON. 

Cr.     We  soon  shall  need  no  prophet  to  inform  us. 
Hearing  our  doom  irrevocably  past 
On  thy  once  destined  bride,  coms't  thou  my  son. 
Incensed  against  thy  father?    or,  thus  acting, 
Still  do  we  share  thy  reverence? 

H<z.  I  am  thine, 

And  thou,  my  father,  dost  direct  my  youth 
By  prudent  counsels,  which  shall  ever  guide  me ; 
Nor  any  nuptials  can  with  me  outweigh 
A  father's  just  command. 

Cr.  Tig  well,  my  son: 

A  mind  like  this  befits  thee,  to  esteem 
All  else  subservient  to  a  father's  wilL 
Hence  'tis  the  prayer,  the  blessing  of  mankind, 
To  nourish  in  their  homes  a  duteous  race, 
Who  on  their  foes  may  well  requite  their  wrongs, 
And,  as  their  father,  honor  friends  sincere. 
But  he  who  to  a  mean  and  dastard  race 
Gives  life,  engenders  to  himself  regret, 
And  much  derision  to  his  taunting  foes. 
Then  do  not  thou,  my  son,  by  love  betrayed, 
Debase  thy  generous  nature  for  a  woman; 
But  think  how  joyless  is  the  cold  embrace 
Of  an  unworthy  consort.     Is  there  wound 
Which  galls  more  keenly  than  a  faithless  friend! 
Spurn,  then,  this  maiden,  as  a  foe  abhorred, 
To  seek  in  Hell  a  more  congenial  bridegroom. 
Since  her  have  I  convicted — her  alone 
Of  all  the  city,  daring  to  rebel: 
My  people  shall  not  brand  their  king  a  liar  I 
She  dies.     And  let  her  now  invoke  her  Jove, 
Who  guards  the  rights  of  kindred.     If  I  brook 
Rebellion  thus  from  those  allied  by  blood, 
How  strong  a  plea  may  strangers  justly  urgel 

He  who  upholds  the  honor  of  his  house,  ^ 

By  a  strict,  impartial  justice  will  be  proved 
True  to  the  public  weal    Nor  can  I  doubt 


282  SOPHOCLES.  .  [LKOT.  XL 

The  man  who  governs  well,  yet  knows  no  less 

To  render  due  obedience,  will  be  found 

A  just  and  firm  confederate  in  the  storm 

Of  peril  and  of  war.     Who  dares  presume 

With  insolent  pride  to  trample  on  the  laws, 

Shall  never  win  from  me  the  meed  of  praise. 

He  whom  the  State  elects  should  be  obeyed 

In  all  his  mandates,  trivial  though  they  seem, 

Or  just  or  unjust.     Of  all  human  ills, 

None  is  more  fraught  with  woes  than  anarchy; 

It  lays  proud  States  in  ruin,  it  subverts 

Contending  households ;  'mid  the  battle-strife 

Scatters  the  serried  ranks,  while  to  the  wise, 

Who  promptly  yield,  obedience  brings  success. 

Still,  then,  by  monarchs  this  shall  be  maintained, 

Nor  e'er  surrendered  to  a  woman's  will. 

'Tis  better  far,  if  we  must  fall,  to  fall  . 

By  man,  than  thus  be  branded  the  weak  prey, 

The  abject  prey,  of  female  conquerors. 

Gh.    To  us,  unless  our  soul  be  dull  with  age, 
Thy  words,  0  King,  seem  well  and  wisely  urged. 

HCB.     The  gods,  my  father,  have  on  man  bestowed 
Their  noblest  treasure — Reason.     To  affirm, 
%          That  in  thy  words  from  prudence  thou  hast  swerved, 
Nor  power  have  I,  nor  knowledge  to  maintain. 
Such  task  were  meeter  from  a  stranger's  lips. 
'Tis  mine  to  guard  thine  interests ; — to  explore 
How  each  may  think,  and  act,  and  vent  on  thee 
His    cutting  censure.     Thine  indignant  eye 
Appals  the  people,  when  their  uttered  thoughts 
Might  haply  wound  thine  ear.     But  to  observe 
These  darkly-whispered  murmurs  is  my  office. 
'  How  the  whole  State  laments  this  helpless  maid, 
Of  all  her  sex  least  worthy  of  such  doom 
As  waits  her  now,  for  deeds,  most  truly  noble ; 
Who  could  not  brook  to  leave  her  brother  slain 
In  fight,  without  a -tomb,  nor  cast  his  corpse 
A  prey  to  ravening  dogs  and  birds  obscene. 
Doth  she  not  merit  glory's  brightest  meed? 
Such  is  the  general  sentence.    O  my  father, 
No  treasure  can  be  dearer  to  thy  son, 
Than  thine  own  prosperous  honors.     What  reflects 
Such  pride  on  children  as  a  generous  sire, 
Such  joy  in  parents  as  a  noble  offspring?  ^    > 

O,  then,  indulge  not  thou  this  mood  alone,  ^?\  f!"(  \> 

To  deem  no  reasoning  cogent  save  thine  own; 
For  he  who  vaunts  himself  supremely  skilled, 
In  speech  and  judgment  o'er  his  fellow  men, 
When  weighed  in  wisdom's  balance,  is  found  wanting. 
It  cannot  shame  a  mortal,  though  most  wise, 
To  learn  much  from  experience,  and  in  much 
Submit.     Thou  seest  the  pliant  trees,,  that  bow 


495  A.C.]  SOPHOCLES.  283 

Beneath  the  rushing  torrent,  rise  unstripped; 
But  all,  that  stem  erect  its  onward  course, 
0         Uprooted  fall  and  perish.     Quell  thy  -wrath- 
Unbend  to  softer  feelings.     If  one  .ray 
Of  wisdom's  light  my  younger  breast  illume, 
I  deem  the  man,  whose  vast  expansive  mind 
Grasps  the  whole  sphere  of  knowledge — noblest  far ; 
But  since  such  boon  is  rare,  the  second  praise 
Is  this,  to  learn  from  those  whose  words  are  wise. 

Ch.     If  he  hath  spoken  wisely,  my  good  lord, 
'Tis  fit  to  weigh  his  reasoning.     Thou,  too,  youth,     [To  Hcemon] 
Regard  thy  father's.     Both  have  argued  welL 

Or.    And  must  we  stoop,  in  this  our  cooler  age, 
Thus  to  be  lessoned  by  a  beardless  boy  I 

Ha.     Not  stoop  to  learn  injustice.    I  am  young, 
But  thou  shouldst  weigh  my  actions,  not  my  years.. 

Cr.    Thou  deem'st  it  justice,  then,  to  favor  rebels? 

Ha.    Ne'er  would  I  ask  thy  favor  for  the  guilty. 

Cr.     Is  not  this  maiden  stained  with  manifest  guilt! 

Ha.    The  general  voice  of  Thebes  repels  the  charge. 

Cr.     Shall,  then  the  city  dictate  laws  to  me  ? 

Ha.     Do  not  thy  W9rds  betray  a  very  youth  ? 

Cr.    Should  I,  or  should  another,  sway  the  State  ? 

Hce.     That,  is  no  State,  which  crouches  to  one  despot  I 

Cr.    Is  not  a  monarch  master  of  his  State  ? 

Ha.    How  nobly  would'st  thou  lord  it  o'er  a  desert  1 

Cr.    Behold,  I  pray  you,  how  this  doughty  warrior 
Strives  in  a  woman's  cause. 

Hce.  Art  thou  A  woman  ? 

I  strive  for  none,  save  thee. 

Cr.  Oh  thou  most  vile  1 

Wouldst  thou  withstand  thy  father? 

Ha.  When  I  see 

My  father  swerve  from  justice. 

Cr.  Do  I  err^ 

Revering  mine  own  laws  ? 

Ha.  '  Dost  thou  revere  them, 

When  thou  wouldst  trample  on  the  laws  of  heaven  ? 

Cr.    0  thou  degenerate  wretch  1   thou  woman's  slave  1 

Ha.     Ne'er  shall  thou  find  me  the  vile  slave  of  baseness  1 

Cr.    Thou  ne'er  shalt  wed  her  living. 

Ha.  If  she  die, 

Her  death  shall  crush  another. 

Cr.  Dai1  ing  villian, 

Dost  thou  proceed  to  threats  ?* 

Ha.  And  does  he  threat 

Who  but  refutes  vain  counsels? 

Cr.  At  thy  cost, 

Shalt  thou  reprove  me,  void  thyself  of  sense. 

Ha.    Now,  but  thou  art  my  father,  I  would  Bay 
.     That  thou  art  most  unwise. 

Cr.  Hence,  woman's  slave  ! 

And  prate  no  more  to  me. 


284  SOPHOCLES.  [LECT.  XL 

Ha.     Wouldst  thou  then  speak 
Whate'er  thou  list,  and  not  endure  reply? 

Cr.    Aye,  is  it  true  ?    Then  by  Olympian  Jove,  , 

I  swear  thou  shalt  not  beard  me  thus  unpunished  1 
Ho  I   bring  that  hated  thing,  that  she  may  die, 
E'en  in  the  presence  of  her  doting  bridegroom. 

Ha.    Believe  it  not.    Before  mine  eyes  at  least, 
She  shall  not  die,  nor  thou  such  dream  indulge; 
I  quit  thy  sight  forever.     They  who  list 
May  stand  the  tame  spectators  of  thy  madness.  [Exit  Hcemon. 

Ch.    The  youth  has  passed,  my  lord,  in  desperate  wrath  • 
A  soul  like  his  may  rush  from  rankling  grief 
To  deeds  of  frenzy. 

Cr.  Let  him  do,  and  dare 

Beyond  the  power  of  man,  he  shall  not  save  her. 

Ch.    What  death  dost  thou  design  her  ? 

Cr.  To  a  spot 

By  mortal  foot  untrodden,  will  I  lead  her ; 
And  deep  immure  her  in  a  rocky  cave, 
Leaving  enough  of  sustenance  to  provide 
A  due  atonement,  that  the  State  may  shun 
Pollution  from  her  death.     There  let  her  calj 
On  gloomy  Hades,  the  sole  power  she  owns, 
To  shield  her  from  her  doom;  or  learn,  though  late, 
At  least  this  lesson;  'tis  a  bootless  task 
To  render  homage  to  the  powers  of  helL 

***** 

\_Antlgone  is  brought  in  guarded.] 

STROPHE   I. 

Ant.    Behold  me,  princes  of  my  native  laud  1 
Treading  the  last  sad  path, 
And  gazing  on  the  latest  beam 
Of  yon  resplendent  sun — 
To  gaze  no  more  forever!    The  stern  hand 
Of  all-entombing  Death 
Impels  me — living  still — 
To  Acheron's  bleak  shore — ungraeed 
By  nuptial  rites ; — no  hymeneal  strain 
Hath  hymned  my  hour  of  bliss, 
And  joyless  Death  will  be  my  bridegroom  now. 

Ch.    Therefore,  with  endless  praise  renowned, 
To  those  drear  regions  wilt  thou  pass; 
Unwasted  aught  by  slow  disease, 
Unwounded  by  avenging  sword, 
Spontaneous,  living,  sole  of  mortal  birth, 
Shalt  thou  to  death  descend. 

ANTISTROPHE   I. 

Ant.    Yes  1  I  have  heard  by  how  severe  a  doom 
The  Phrygian  stranger  died 
On  Sipylus'  bleak  brow  sublime, 
Whom,  in  its  cold  embrace; 


495  A. C.]  SOPHOCLES.  285 

The  creeping  jock,  like  wreathing  ivy,  strained. 

Her,  in  chill  dews  dissolved, 

As  antique  legends  tell, 

Ne'er  do  th'  exhaustless  snows  desert, 

Nor  from  her  eyes  do  trickling  torrents  cease          * 

To  gush.    A  doom  like  hers, 

Alas,  how  like !  hath  fate  reserved  for  me. 

Oh.     A  goddess  she,  and  sprung  from  gods ; — 
We,  mortal  as  our  fathers  were. 
What  matchless  fame  is  thine  1   to  fall  like  those 
Of  ancestry  divine ! 

STROPHE  n. 

Ant.    Ah  me !   I  am  derided.     Why,  oh  why, 
By  my  ancestral  gods, 
Why  do  ye  mock,  ere  yet  the  tomb 
Hath  veiled  me  from  your  sight? 
0  my  loved  Thebes !  and  ye, 
Her  lordly  habitants  1 

0  ye  Dircsean  streams  1 

^  Thou  sacred  grove  of  car-compelling  Thebes  I 

1  here  invoke  you  to  attest  my  wrongs, 

How,  by  my  friends  unwept,  and  by  what  laws, 

I  sink  into  the  cavern — gloom 

Of  this  untimely  sepulchre  I 

Me  miserable  ! 

Outcast  from  earth,  and  from  the  tomb, 

I  am  not  of  the  living  or  the  dead. 

Ch.    Hurried  to  daring's  wild  excess, 
Deeply,  my  daughter,  hast  thou  sinned, 
Against  the  exalted  throne  of  Right. 
The  woes  that  crushed  thy  father,  fall  on  thee. 

ANTISTROPHE   n. 

Ant.     Ah  1  thou  hast  probed  mine  anguish  to  the  quick, 
The  source  of  all  my  pangs, 
My  father's  widely-blazoned  fate; 
And  the  long  train  of  ills, 
Which  crushed,  in  one  wide  wreck 
The  famed  Labdacidae ! 
Woe  for  the  withering  curse 
Of  those  maternal  nuptials,  which  impelled 
My  sire,  unconscious,  to  a  parent's  couch  1 
From  whom  I  sprung,  by  birth  a  very  wretch: 

Ch.    Religion  bids  us  grace  the  dead ; 
But  might,  when  regal  might  bears  sway, 
Must  never,  never,  be  contemned. 
Thine  own  unbending  pride  hath  sealed  thy  doom. 

Ant.     Unmourned,  unfriended,  'reft  of  bridal  joys, 
Despairingly  I  tread 
The  path  to<f  well  prepared. 
No  more  forever  must  I  hail  thy  beams 


286  SOPHOCLES.  [Leer.  XI. 

Thou  glad  and  holy  sun ! 

Yet  to  my  doom  no  sorrowing  friend  accords 

The  tribute  of  a  tear. 

^  Enter  CREON. 

Or.     What,  know  ye.  not,  that  none,  ere  death  arrive, 
Would  ever  cease  their  plaints,  could  words  avail  them? 
Instant  conduct  her  hence;   and,  as  I  bade, 
Immure  her  in  the  deep  sepulchral  cave ; 
There  leave  her  lone  and  desolate,  or  to  die 
Or  live  imprisoned  in  that  drear  abode. 
We  from  her  death  shall  thus  be  pure ;  and  she 
Shall  hold  no  more  communion  with  the  living. 

Ant.    0  tomb!  O  bridal  bed!   0  dark  abode  1* 
My  ever-during  prison !  whither  now 
I  sink  to  join  my  kindred,  a  sad  train, 
Whom  Proserpine  among  the  silent  dead     . 
Hath  long  received; — of  whom  the  last  in  time, 
The  first  in  sorrow,  I  to  death  descend, 
Ere  mine  allotted  earthly  turn  be  past. 
Yet  e'en  in  death  I  cherish  one  warm  hope, 

That  dear  to  my  loved  father  I  shall  come,  * 

Dear  to  thee,  mother  1   and  most  dear  to  thee, 
My  brother !   for  in  death  my  hand  received  you, 
Your  relics  laved,  your  lifeless  limbs  composed, 
And  o'er  your  tomb  libations  poured.     And  now, 
Dear  Polynices,  I  have  honored  thee 
With  funeral  rites,  and  thus  do  they  requite  me. 
Yet  will  not  justice  blame  my  pious  care; — 
Which  of  your  laws,  ye  Powers,  have  I  transgressed  I 
Yet  wherefore  do  I  turn  me  to  the  gods? — 
Whom  shall  I  call  to  aid  me,  since  I  meet 
For  pious  deeds  the  vengeance  of  the  guilty? 
If  acts  like  these  are  sanctioned  by  the  gods, 
I  will  address  me  to  my  doom  in  silence ; 
If  not,  and  these  offend,  may  heaven  requite 
On  them  such  evils  as  they  wreak  on  me. 

Ch.    The  same  wild  storms  of  frenzied  rage 
Distract  the  unhappy  maniac  still. 

Cr.    For  this  the  lingering  slaves  ere  long 
Shall  learn  in  tears  to  mourn  their  vain  delay. 

Ant.    Alas!   death  cannot  be  dissevered  far 
From  that  appalling  threat. 

Cr.     Aye,  I  would  warn  thee  not  to  hope 
The  doom,  once  sealed,  may  be  reversed. 

Ant.    0  Thebes,  proud  city  of  my  sires  1 
0  tutelary  gods! 

They  force  me  hence,  and  respite  is  denied. 
Behold,  ye  rulers  of  imperial  Thebes, 
The  last  sad  daughter  of  a  royal  line, 
What  fearful  wrongs  I  suffer,  and  from  whom;—- 
My  only  crime  a  pious  deed.  9 


495  A.C.]  SOPHOCLES.  287 

At  the  close  -of  this  scene  Antigone  is  led  to  a  cavern  in  a  rock,  where 
she  is  destined  to  perish.  Meantime  Tiresias,  the  prophet,  tells  Creon 
that  his  relentless  soul  has  become  the  terror  and  plague  of  the  whole 
country ;  and  this,  with  warnings  from  other  messengers  also,  works  so 
powerfully  upon  the  mind  of  Creon,  that  he  finally  relents,  and  goes  to 
the  cavern  to  release  Antigone.  His  relentings  came,  however,  too  late 
— Antigone's  sufferings  have  already  terminated  in  death,  and  by  her 
side  the  tyrant  beholds  the  lifeless  remains  of  her  devoted  Hsemon. 
While  Creon  is  contemplating  this  awful  catastrophe,  a  messenger 'enters, 
announcing  the  death  of  the  queen  ;  and  with  the  scene  that  follows  the 
tragedy  ends : 

Enter  MESSENGER. 

Mess.    Sorrows  are  deepening  round  thee,  0  my  lord, — 
One  source  of  bitterest  grief  thy  hands  sustain ; 
One  waits  within  which  thou  must  soon  behold. 

Or.     What  yet  remains  to  dreg  the  cup  of  sorrow  ? 

Mess.    Thy  queen,  the  mother  of  this  lifeless  youth, 
Hath  died,  unhappy,  by  a  recent  wound. 

ANTISTROPHE    I. 

Cr.    Oh !   thou  inexpiable  home  of  death, 
Why  dost  thou  crush  me  thus  ? 
0  herald  of  o'erwhelming  woes 
What  horrors  dost  thou  bring? — 
Why,  why  press  down  a  wretch  already  lost! 
What  hast  thou  said?     What  new  despair, 
Redoubling  woes  on  woes  ? — 
And  to  a  murdered  son 
Doest  thou  then  add  my  wife's  destruction  too? — 

Mess.     Thou  mayst  behold  her,  now  no  more,  within. 

ANTISTROPHE   II. 

Cr.    Alas !   I  gaze  upon  a  second  woe. 
What  doom,  ah!   what  awaits  the  victim  still? 
In  these  sad  hands  a  lifeless  son  I  bear, 
There  mark  another  recent  corpse — woe  1    woe ! 
Sad  mother!   wretched  son! 

Mess.    Before  the  hallowed  altars,  in  wild  wrath 
She  fell — and  closed  her  eyes  in  Death's  dull  night, 
Deploring  first,  indeed,  th'  illustrious  bed 
Of  Megareus — long  since  to  death  consigned  ; 
Then  this  her  hapless  son, — last  on  thy  head 
She  imprecated  curses,  and  proclaimed  thee 
The  murderer  of  thy  child ! 

» 

STROPHE    IH. 

Cr.    Woe  !  woe  is  me  I 
T  quake  with  horror.     Will  no  friendly  hand 


288  SOPHOCLES.  [LEOT.  XL 

In  mercy  plunge  deep,  deep  the  two-edged  sword? 

I  arn  a  very  wretch, 

Condemned  to  struggle  with  o'ermastering  woes ! 

Mess.     Ere  yet  she  perished,  with  her  parting  breath, 
She  charged  on  thee  the  fatal  doom  of  both. 

Or.     And  by  what  means  did  death  •relieve  her  sorrows? 

Mess.     Deep  in.  her  side  she  buried  the  keen  sword, 
Soon  as  her  son's  lamented  doom  she  heard. 

STROPHE    IV. 

Cr.    Wretch  that  I  am!  the  guilt  is  all  mine  town, 
None  shared  the  deadly  deed ! 
I  am  alone  the  blood-stained  homicide; 
"Pis  all  too  clear — 0  1   lead  me  hence, 
Attendants,  bear  me  hence  I  away — away — 
For  I  am  nothing  nowl 

Ch.     Well  dost  thou  judge,  if  in  despair  like  thine 
Aught  can  be  well,  for  heaviest  evils  press 
With  lighter  burden,  when  from  sight  removed. 

ANTISTROPHE   III. 

Cr.  Come,  then,  0  come, 

Shine  forth,  thou  last  and  lightest  of  my  woes, 
Bringing  the  final  and  most  welcome  hour 
Of  suffering !     Come,  0  come, 
That  I  may  view  the  light  of  heaven  no  more. 

Ch.  These  cares  respect  the  future — first  befits 
To  weigh  with  prudent  thought  the  present  crisis. 
Let  those  direct  on  whom  'such  charge  devolves. 

Cr.     What  most  my  soul  desires,  I  did  but  make 
My  first  and  warmest  prayer. 

Ch.'  Pray  now  for  nothing — 

There  is  no  refuge  for  devoted  man, 
When  fate  consigns  him  to  a  doom  of  woe. 

ANTISTROPHE    IV. 

Cr.    Lead  hence  this  lifeless  shade,  far,  far  away. 
Who,  though  unwilling  all, 
Slew  thee,  my  eon !   thee,  too,  O  wife  beloved  1 
Ah !   wretch !   I  know  not  where  to  look, 
Or  whither  fly.     All  are  against  me  now—- 
Fate is  itself  my  foe. 

Ch.    There4  is  no  guide  to  happiness  on  earth, 
Save  wisdom ;'  nor  behoves  it  us  to  fail 
In  reverence  to  the  gods  1    High-sounding  vaunts 
Inflict  due  vengeance  on  the  haughty  head, 
And*  teach  late  wisdom  to  its  dark  o^d  age. 

It  may  be  proper  to  remark,  that  the  Chorus   in  this  interesting 
tragedy  was   composed  of  some  of  the   principal  citizens  of  Thebes, 


495  A.C.]  SOPHOCLES.  289 

selected  for  their  known  attachment  and  fidelity  to  the  house  of  Lab- 
dacus,  and  summoned  by  Creon,  as  they  imagined,  to  a  council ;  but 
they  soon  discovered  that  he  had  convened  them  only  to  give  their 
sanction  to  his  inhuman  and  impious  edict.  They  seemed,  indeed,  dis- 
posed to  vindicate  the  action  of  Antigone  by  ascribing  it  to  the  im- 
pulse of  the  gods ;  but  the  king  rebukes  them  harshly,  and  they  become 
submissive  even  to  servility :  they  had  a  sense  of  religion,  and  of  their 
duty,  but  '  fear  had  chained  their  tongues ;'  nor  till  the  prophet  Tiresias 
had  alarmed  the  fears  of  the  tyrant,  and  they  saw  his  savage  mind  begin 
to  relent,  did  they  dare  to  take  a  decided  part  in  favor  of  humanity  and 
religion. 

"We  have  dwelt  so  long  on  the  tragedy  of  '  Antigone,'  that  we  can 
devote  but  a  very  brief  space  to  Sophocles'  remaining  plays. 

In  the  tragedy  of  '  Electra,'  the  character  of  the  heroine  stands  out  in 
the  boldest  contrast  to  the  creation  of  the  Antigone.  Both  are  endowed 
with  surpassing  majesty  and  strength  of  nature.  They  are  loftier  than 
the  daughters  of  men ;  their  very  loveliness  is  of  an  age  when  gods  were 
no  distant  ancestors  of  kings — when,  as  in  the  early  sculptures  of  Pallas, 
or  even  of  Aphrodite,  something  of  the  severe  and  stern  was  deemed 
necessary  to  the  realization  of  the  divine  ;  and  the  beautiful  had  not  lost 
the  colossal  proportions  of  the  grand.  But  the  strength  and  heroism  of 
Antigone  is  derived  from  love — love,  sober,  serene,  august — but  still 
impassioned  love.  Electra,  on  the  contrary,  is  exalted  and  supported 
above  her  sex  by  the  might  of.  her  hatred.  Her  father,  '  the  king  of 
men,' foully  murdered  in  his  palace — herself  compelled  to  consort  with 
his  murderers — to  receive  from  their  hands  both  charity  and  insult — the 
adulterous  murderer  on  her  father's  throne,  and  lord  of  her  father's 
marriage-bed — her  brother  a  wanderer  and  an  outcast.  Such  are  the 
thoughts  unceasingly  before  her  ! — her  heart  and  soul  have  for  years  fed 
upon  the  bitterness  of  a  resentment,  at  once  impotent  and  intense,  and 
nature  itself  has  turned  to  gall.  She  sees  not  in  Clytemnestra  a  mother, 
but'  the  murderess  of  a  father.  The  doubt  and  the  compunction  of  a 
Hamlet  are  unknown  to  her  more  masculine  spirit.  She  lives  on,  but  in 
the  hope  of  her  brother's  return  and  of  revenge.  At  length  Orestes, 
who  had  been  saved  in  childhood  by  his  sister  Electra,  from  the  designs 
of  Clytemnestra  and  ^Egisthus,  returns  in  manhood  to  his  ancestral  home. 
He  is  accompanied  by  Pylades,  and  an  old  attendant ;  and  they  present 
themselves  at  the  habitation  of  the  Pelopidae,  just  at  the  dawn  of  day. 
Here  the  play  opens ;  but  we  shall  no  farther  pursue  the  subject. 

The  following  passage  from  this  tragedy — the  only  one  that  we  shall 
select — contains  an  animated  and  faithful  picture  of  an  exhibition  of  the 
Pythian  races,  and  is,  on  that  account,  the  more  interesting  and  im- 
portant. Orestes  had  obtained  five  victories  in  the  first  day — in  the 

19 


290  SOPHOCLES.  [LECT  XI. 

second  he  starts  with  nine  competitors  in  the  chariot-race — an  Achaean, 
a  Spartan,  two  Lybians — he  himself  with  Thessalian  studs — a  sixth  from 
JEtolia ;  a  Magnesian,  an  (Enian,  an  Athenian,  and  a  Boeotian,  complete 
the  number  : 

They  took  their  stand  where  the  appointed  judges 

Had  cast  their  lots,  and  ranged  their  rival  cars ; 

Kang  out  the  brazen  trump  1     Away  they  bound, 

Cheer  the  hot  steeds  and  shake  the  darkening  reins, 

As  with  a  body  the  large  space  is  filled 

With  the  huge  clangor  of  the  rattling  cars : 

High  whirl  aloft  the  dust-clouds  ;   blent  together 

Each  presses  each — and  the  lash  rings — and  loud 

Snort  the  wild  steeds,  and  from  their  fiery  breath, 

Along  the  manes'  and  down  the  circling  wheels, 

Scatter  the  flaking  foam.     Orestes  still, 

Aye,  as  he  swept  around  the  perilous  pillar 

Last  in  the  course,  wheel'd  in  the  rushing  axle, 

The  left  rein  curbed — that  on  the  outer  hand 

Flung  loose.     So  on  erect  the  chariots  rolled  1 

Sudden  the  OEnian's  fierce  and  headlong  steeds 

Broke  from  the  bit,  and,  as  the  seventh  time  now 

The  course  was  circled,  on  the  Lybian  car 

Dash'd  their,  wild  fronts:   then  order  changed  to  ruin: 

Car  dashed  on  car — the  wide  Crissasan  plain 

Was,  sea-like,  strewn  with  wrecks ;   the  Athenian  saw, 

Slackened  his  speed,  and,  wheeling  round  the  marge, 

Unscathed  and  skilful,  in  the  midmost  space, 

Left  the  wild  tumult  of  that  tossing  storm. 

Behind,  Orestes,  hitherto. the  last, 

Had  yet  kept  back  his  coursers  for  the  close; 

Now  one  sole  rival  left — on,  on  he  flew, 

And  the  sharp  sound  of  the  impelling  scourge 

Kang  in  the  keen  ears  of  the  flying  steeds. 

He  nears — he  reaches — they  are  side  by  side; 

Now  one — now  th'  other — by  a  length  the  victor. 

The  courses  all  are  past — the  wheels  erect — 

All  safe — when  as  the  hurrying  coursers  round 

The  fatal  pillar  dash'd,  the  wretched  boy 

Slackened  the  left  rein ;   on  the  column's  edge 

Crash'd  the  frail  axle — headlong  from  the  car, 

Caught  and  all  meshed  within  the  reins  he  fell ; 

And,  masterless,  the  mad  steeds  raged  along  1 

Loud  from  that  mighty  multitude  arose 
A  shriek — a  shout !     But  yesterday  such  deeds — 
To-day  such  doom  !     Now  whirled  upon  the  earth, 
Now  his  limbs  dash'd  aloft,  they  dragged  him — those 
Wild  horses — till  all  gory  from  the  wheels 
Released — and  no  man,  not  his  nearest  friends, 
Could  in  that  mangled  corpse  have  traced  Orestes. 


495  A.C.]  SOPHOCLES.  291 

They  laid  the  body  on  the  funeral  pyre, 

And  while  we  speak,  the  Phocian  strangers  bear, 

In  a  small,  brazen,  melancholy  urn, 

That  handful  of  cold  ashes  to  which  all 

The  grandeur  of  the  beautiful  hath  shrunk 

Within  they  bore  him — in  his  father's  land 

To  find  that  heritage — a  tomb ! 

Of  the  seven  extant  tragedies  of  Sophocles,  *  The  Trachiniae '  is  usually 
considered  the  least  imbued  with  the  genius  of  the  author ;  and  Schlegel 
has  even  gone  so  far  as  to  conjecture,  but  without  even  plausible  testi- 
mony, that  Sophocles  himself  may  not  have  written  it. 

The  plot  of  the  drama  is  very  simple,  and  may  be  soon  told.  The  play 
is  opened  by  Deianira,  the  wife  of  Hercules,  who  indulges  in  melancholy 
reflections  on  the  misfortunes  of  her  youth,  and  the  continual  absence  of 
her  husband,  of  whom  no  tidings  have  been  heard  for  months.  She  soon 
learns  from  her  son  Hyllus,  that  Hercules  is  reported  to  be  leading  an 
expedition  into  Eubcea ;  and  our  interest  is  immediately  excited  by 
Deianira's  reply,  which  informs  us  that  oracles  had  foretold  that  this  was 
to  be  the  crisis  in  the  life  of  Hercules — that  he  was  now  to  enjoy  rest 
from  his  labors,  either  in  a  peaceful  home,  or  in  the  grave ;  and  she 
sends  Hyllus  to  join  his  father,  and  share  his  enterprise  and  fate.  The 
'chorus  touchingly  paint  the  anxious  love  of  Deianira  in  the  following 
lines : 

Thou,  whom  the  starry-spangled  Night  did  lull 

Into  the  sleep  from  which — her  journey  done — 
Her  parting  steps  awake  thee — beautiful 

Fountain  of  flame,  oh  Sun ! 
Say,  on  what  seagirt  strand,  or  inland  shore 

(For  earth  is  bared  before  thy  solemn  gaze), 

In  orient  Asia,  or  where  wilder  rays 

Tremble  on  eastern  waters,  wandereth  he 
Whom  bright  Alcmena  bore  ? 
Ah !  as  some  bird  within  a  lonely  nest 

The  desolate  wife  puts  sleep  away  with  tears ; 
And  ever  ills  to  be 

Haunting  the  absence  with  dim  hosts  of  fears, 
Fond  fancy  shapes  from   air    dark  prophets  of  the  breast. 


In  her  answer  to  the  virgin  chorus,  Deianira  weaves  a  beautiful  pic- 
ture of  maiden  youth,  as  a  contrast  to  the  cares  and  anxieties  of  wedded 
life: 

Youth  pastures  in  a  valley  of  its  own : 

The  scorching  sun,  the  rain  and  winds  of  Heaven, 

Mar  not  the  calm — yet  virgin  of  all  care; 

But  ever  with  sweet  joys  it  buildeth  up 

The  airy  halls  of  life. 


292  SOPHOCLES.  '    [LECT.  XI. 

Deianira  afterwards  receives  fresh  news  of  Hercules.  She  gives  way 
to  her  joy.  Lichas,  the  herald,  enters,  and  confides  to  her  charge  some 
maidens  whom  the  hero  had  captured.  De'ianira  is  struck  with  com- 
passion for  their  lot,  and  with  admiration  of  the  noble  bearing  of  one  of 
them,  lole.  She  is  about  to  busy  herself  in  preparation  for  their  com- 
fort,  when  she  learns  that  lole  is  her  rival — the  beloved  mistress  of 
Hercules.  The  jealousy  evinced  by  De'ianira  is  beautifully  soft  and 
womanly.  Even  in  uttering  reproach  on  Hercules,  she  says  she  cannot 
feel  angry  with  him,  yet  how  can  she  dwell  in  the  same  house  with  a 
younger  and  fairer  rival : 

She  in  whose  years  the  flower  that. fades  in  mine 
Opens  the  leaves  of  beauty. 

Her  affection,  her  desire  to  retain  the  love  of  the  hero,  suggests  to 
her  remembrance  a  gift  she  had  once  received  from  a  centaur -who  had 
fallen  by  the  shaft  of  Hercules.  The  centaur  had  assured  her  the  blood 
from  his  wound,  if  preserved,  would  exercise  the  charm  of  a  filter  over 
the  heart  of  Hercules,  and  would  ever  recall  and  fix  upon  her  his  affec- 
tions. She,  accordingly,  steeps,  with  the  supposed  charm  a  robe,  which 
she  sends  to  Hercules,  as  a  gift ;  but  in  this  fatal  resolve  she^  shows  all 
the  timidity  and  sweetness  of  her  nature :  she  even  questions  if  it  be  a* 
crime  to  regain  the  heart  of  her  husband  :  she  consults  the  chorus  who 
advise  the  experiment.  She  accordingly  sends  the  garment  by  Lichas; 
but  scarcely  has  the  herald  gone,  ere  De'ianira  is  terrified  by  a  strange 
phenomena  :  a  part  of  the  wool  with  which  the  supposed  filter  had  been 
applied  to  the  garment,  was  thrown  into  the  sun-light,  upon  which  it 
withered  away — '  crumbling  like  saw-dust ' — while  on  the  spot  where  it 
fell  a  sort  of  venomous  foam  froths  up.  While  relating  this  phenomena 
to  the  chorus,  her  son,  Hyllue,  returns,  and  informs  her  of  the  agonies 
of  his  father  under  the  poisoned  garment.  On  hearing  this  news,  and 
the  reproaches  of  her  son,  Dei'anira  steals  silently  away,  and  destroys 
herself  upon  the  bridal-bed. 

The  beauty  of  the  '  Trachinise '  is  in  detached  passages,  in  some  ex- 
quisite bursts  of  the  chorus,  and  in  the  character  of  Dei'anira,  whose  act 
to  regain  the  love  of  her  consort,  unhappily  as  it  terminates,  is  amply  re- 
deemed by  the  meekness  of  her  nature,  the  delicacy  of  her  sentiment,  and 
the  anxious,  earnest,  unreproachful  devotion  of  her  heart  to  conjugal  love. 

Of  the  three  tragedies,  '-King  CEdipus,'  'Ajax,'  and  <  (Edipus  at  Co- 
lonus,'  we  shall  only  remark,  that  they  are  all  works  exhibiting  the  most 
transcendent  dramatic  talent,  and  displaying  the  author's  varied  powers 
in  the  most  favorable  light.  The  following  passage,  the  close  of  Ajax' 
celebrated  soliloquy,  we  cannot  deny  ourselves  the  pleasure  of  intro- 
ducing : — 


495A.C.]  SOPHOCLES.  293 

And  thou  that  mak'st  high  heaven  thy  chariot-course, 

Oh  sun — when  gazing  on  my  father-land, 

Draw  back  thy  golden  rein,  and  tell  my  woes 

To  the  old  man,  my  father — and  to  her 

Who  nursed  me  at  her  bosom — my  poor  mother  1 

There  will  be  wailing  through  the  echoing  walls 

When — but  away  with  thoughts  like  these  ! — the  hour 

Brings  on  the  ripening  deed.     Death,  death,  look  on  ine  1 

Did  I  say  death  ? — it  was  a  waste  of  words ; 

We  shall  be  friends  hereafter. 

Tis  the  day. 

•  Present  and  breathing  round  me,  and  the  car 
Of  the  sweet  sun,  that  never  shall  again 
Receive  my  greeting! — henceforth  time  is  sunless, 
And  day  a  thing  that  is  not !     Beautiful  light, 
My  Salamis — my  country — and  the  floor 
Of  my  dear  household  hearth — and  thou,  bright  Athens, 
Thou — for  thy  sons  and  I  were  boys  together — 
Fountains  and  rivers,  and  ye  Trojan  plains, 
I  loved  ye  as  my  fosterers — fare  ye  well  1 
Take  in  these  words,  the  last  earth  hears  from  Ajax — 
All  else  unspoken,  in  a  spectre  land 
I'll  whisper  to  the  dead ! 

A  brief  notice  of  *  Philoctetes'  will  close  our  present  remarks.  This 
play  has  always  been  ranked  by  critics  among  the  most  celebrated  and 
polished  of  the  tragedies  of  Sophocles.  The  plot  is  as  follows : 

Philoctetes,  the  friend  and  armor-bearer  of  Hercules,  and  the  heir  of 
that  hero's  unerring  shafts  and  bow,  had,  while  the  Grecian  fleet  an- 
chored at  Chryse,  a  small  island  in  the  ^Egaean,  been  bitten  in  the  foot 
fey  a  serpent ;  the  pain  of  the  wound  was  insufferable — the  shrieks  and 
groans  of  Philoctetes  disturbed  the  libations  and  sacrifices  of  the  Greeks. 
And  Ulysses  and  Diomed,  when  the  fleet  proceeded,  left  him,  while 
asleep,  on  the  wild  and  rocky  solitudes  of  Lemnos.  There,  till  the 
tenth  year  of  the  Trojan  siege,  he  dragged  out  an  agonizing  life.  The 
soothsayer  Helenus  then  declared  that  Troy  could  not  fall  till  Philoc- 
tetes appeared  in  the  Grecian  camp  with  the  arrows  and  bow  of  Hercules. 
Ulysses  undertakes  to  effect  this  object,  and,  with  Neoptolemus,  the  son 
of  Achilles,  departs  for  Lemnos.  Here  the  play  opens.  A  wild  and 
desolate  shore — a  cavern  with  two  mouths,  to  admit  the  sunshine  in 
winter,  and  the  .freezes  in  summer — and  a  little  fountain  of  pure  water, 
designate  the  abode  of  Philoctetes. 

In  accordance  with  his  general  character,  Ulysses  is  to  gain  his  object 
by  deceit  and  stratagem.  Neoptolemus  is  to  dupe  him  whom  he  has 
never  seen  'by  professions  of  friendship — and  offers  of  services,  and  to 
snare  away  the  consecrated  weapons.  Neoptolemus  has  all  the  generous 
ardor  and  honesty  of  youth;  but  he  has  also  its  timid  irresolution — its 


291  SOPHOCLES.  [LECT.  XI. 

docile  submission  to  the  great— ^its  fear  of  the  censure  of  the  world.  He 
recoils  from  the  base  task  proposed  to  him ;  he  would  prefer  violence  to 
fraud ;  yet  he  dreads  lest,  having  undertaken  the  enterprise,  his  refusal 
to  act  should  be  considered  treachery  to  his  coadjutor.  It  is  with  a 
deep  and  melancholy  wisdom  that  Ulysses,  who  seems  to  contemplate  his 
struggles  with  compassionate  and  not  displeased  superiority,  thus  at- 
tempts to  reconcile  the  young  man : 

Son  of  a  noble  sire!   I  too,  in  youth, 

Had  thy  plain  speech,  and  thine  impatient  arm : 

But  a  stern  test  is  time !     I  have  lived  to  see 

That  among  men  the  tools  of  power  and  empire    ' 

Are  subtle  words — not  deeds.  : 

Neoptolemus  is  overruled,  Ulysses  withdraws,  and  Philoctetes  appears. 
The  delight  of  the  lonely  wretch  on  hearing  his  own  language — on  seeing 
the  son  of  Achilles — his  description  of  his  feelings  when  he  first  found 
himself  abandoned  in  the  desert — his  relation  of  the  hardships  he  has 
since  undergone,  are  pathetic  in  the  extreme.  He  implores  Neoptolemus 
to  bear  him  away,  and  when  the  youth  consents,  he  bursts  into  an  excla- 
mation of  joy,  which,  to  the  audience,  in  the  secret  of  the  perfidy  to  be 
practised  on  him,  must  have  excited  the  most  lively  emotions. 

The  characteristic  excellence  of  Sophocles  is,  that  in  his  most  majestic 
creations  he  always  contrives  to  introduce  the  sweetest  touches  of  human- 
ity. Philoctetes  will  not  even  quit  his  miserable  desert  until  he  has  re- 
turned to  his  cave  to  bid  it  farewell — to  kiss  the  only  shelter  that  did  not 
deny  a  refuge  to  his  woes.  In  the  joy  of  his  heart  he  thinks  that  he  has 
found  faith  in  man — in  unsophisticated  youth.  He  trusts  the  arrows  and 
the  bow  to  the  hand  of  Neoptolemus.  Then,  as  he  attempts  to  crawl 
along,  the  sharp  agony  of  his  wound  completely  overpowers  him.  He 
endeavors  in  vain  to  stifle  his  groans :  the  body  conquers  the  mind.  The 
torture  exhausts,  till  insensibility  or  sleep  comes  over  him.  He  lies  down 
to  rest,  and  the  young  man  watches  at  his  side.  The  picture  is  remark- 
ably striking.  Neoptolemus,  at  war  with  himself,  does  not  seize  the  occa- 
sion. Philoctetes  awakes :  he  is  ready  to  go  on  board ;  he  urges,  and 
even  implores  instant  departure.  Neoptolemus  recoils— the  suspicions  of 
Philoctetes  are  awakened ;  he  thinks  that  this  stranger  too  will  abandon 
him.  At  length  the  young  man,  by  a  violent  effort,  speaks  abruptly  out, 
'  Thou  must  sail  to  Troy— to  the  Greeks — the  Atridse.'  '  The  Greeks— 
the  Atridse  !'  the  betrayers  of  Philoctetes — those  beyond  pardon — those 
whom  for  ten  years  he.  has  pursued  with  the  curses  of  a  wronged,  and  de- 
serted, and  solitary  spirit.  '  Give  me  back,'  he  cried,  '  my  bow  and  ar- 
rows.' And  when  Neoptolemus  refuses,  he  pours  forth  a  torrent  of  the 
bitterest  reproach.  The  son  of  the  truth-telling  Achilles  can  withstand 
no  longer.  He  is  about  to  restore  the  weapons,  when  Ulysses  rushes  on 
the  stage  and  prevents  him. 


495  A.D.]  SOPHOCLES.  ;  295 

At  length  the  sufferer  is  to  be  left — left  once  more  alone  in  the  desert. 
He  cannot  go  with  his  betrayers — he  cannot  give  glory  and  conquest  to 
his  inhuman  foes.  In  the  wrath  of  his  indignant  heart  even  the  desert  is 
sweeter  than  the  Grecian  camp.  And  how  is  he  to  sustain  himself  with- 
out his  shafts  ?  Famine  adds  a  new  horror  to  his  dreary  solitude,  and 
the  wild  beasts  may  now  pierce  into  his  cavern  :  but  their  cruelty  would 
be  mercy !  His  contradictory  and  tempestuous  emotions,  as  the  sailors 
that  compose  the  chorus  are  about  to  depart,  are  thus  told.  The  chorus 
entreats  him  to  accompany  them  : 

Phil.    Begone  1 

Ch.  It  is  a  friendly  bidding — we  obey — 

Come,  let  us  go.     To  ship,  my  comrades. 

Ph.  No, 

No,  do  not  go — by  the  great  Jove  who  hears 
Men's  curses — do  not  go. 

Ch.     Be  calm, 

Ph.  Sweet  strangers  1 

In  mercy  leave  me  not. 

*•  *  *  *  ***** 

*  *  *  *  ###•#*, 

Ch.    But  now  you  bade  us. 

Ph.  Ay,  meet  cause  for  chiding, 

That  a  poor  desperate  wretch,  maddened  with  pain, 
Should  talk  as  madmen  do ! 

Ch.     Come  then  with  us. 

Ph.     Never  !     Oh,  never !     Hear  me — not  if  all 
The  lightnings  of  the  thunder-god  were  made 
Allies  with  you,  to  blast  me  ?     Perish  Troy, 
And  all  beleaguered  round  its  walls — yea,  all 
Who  had  the  heart  to  spurn  the  wounded  wretch ; 
But,  but' — nay — yes — one  prayer,  one  boon  accord  me  ? 

Ch.     What  wouldst  thou  have? 

Ph.  .         A  sword,  an  axe,  a  something ; 

So  it  can  strike,  no  matter ! 

Ch.     Nay,  for  what? 

Ph.     What !   for  this  hand  to  hew  me  off  this  head— 
These  limbs !     To  death,  to  solemn  death  at  last 
My  spirit,  calls  me. 

Ch:  Why? 

Ph.  To  seek  my  father. 

Ch.  On  earth? 

Ph.  In  Hades. 

Having  thus  worked  us  up  to  the  utmost  point  of  sympathy  with  the 
abandoned  Philoctetes,  the  poet  now  gradually  sheds  a  gentler  and  holier 
light  over  the  intense  gloom  to  which  we  had  been  led.  Neoptolemus, 
touched  with  generous  remorse,  steals  back  to  give  the  betrayed  warrior 
his  weapons — he  is  watched  by  the  vigilant  Ulysses — an  angry  altercation 
takes  place  between  them.  Ulysses,  finding  he  cannot  intimidate,  pru- 


296  SOPHOCLES.  [LECT.  XI. 

dently  avoids  personal  encounter  with  the  son  of  Achilles,  and  departs  to 
apprize  the  host  of  the  backsliding  of  his  comrade.  A  most  beautiful 
scene,  in  which  Neoptolemus  restores  the  weapons  to  Philoctetes — a  scene 
which  must  have  commanded,  the  most  exquisite  tears  and  the  most  rap- 
turous applauses  of  the  audience,  ensues;  and  finally,  the  god,  so  useful  to 
the  ancient  poets,  brings  all  things  to  a  happy  close.  Hercules  appears, 
and  induces  his  former  friend  to  accompany  Neoptolemus  to  the  Grecian 
camp,  where  his  wound  shall  be  healed.  The  farewell  of  Philoctetes  to 
his  cavern — to  the  nymph  of  the  meadows — to  the  roar  of  the  ocean, 
whose  spray  the  south  wind  dashes  through  the  rude  abode — to  the  Ly- 
cian  stream,  and  the  plain  of  Lemnos — is  left  to  linger  on  the  ear  like  a 
solemn  hymn,  in  which  the  little  that  is  mournful  only  heightens  the  ma- 
jestic sweetness  of  all  that  is  musical. 

The  dramatic  art  in  the  several  scenes  of  this  play  has  never  been  ex- 
celled, and  rarely,  elsewhere,  ever  equalled,  even  by  Sophocles  himself. 
The  contrast  of  character  in  Ulysses  and  Neoptolemus  has  in  it  a  reality, 
a  human  strength  and  truth,  that  is  much  more  common  to  the  modern 
than  to  the  ancient  drama. 

The  *  Philoctetes'  involuntarily  courts  a  comparison  with  the i  Prome- 
theus' of  ^Eschylus ;  and  this,  it  must  be  admitted,  is  a  great  drawback 
to  our  admiration  of  the  former.  Both  are  examples  of  fortitude  under 
suffering — of  the  mind's  conflict  with  its  fate.  In  either  play  a  dreary 
waste,  a  savage  solitude  constitutes  the  scene.  But  the  towering  sub- 
limity of  the  Prometheus  dwarfs  into  littleness  every  image  of  hero  or 
demigod  with  which  we  .  contrast  it.  What  are  the  chorus  of  mariners, 
and  the  astute  Ulysses,  and  the  boyish  generosity  of  Nepotolemus — what 
is  the  lonely  cave  on  the  shores  of  Lemnos — what  the  high-hearted  old 
warrior,  with  his  torturing  wound  and  his  sacred  bow — what  are  all  these 
to  the  vast  Titan,  whom  the  fiends  chain  to  the  rock  beneath  which  roll 
the  rivers  of  hell,  for  whom  the  daughters  of  Ocean  are  ministers,  to 
whose  primeval  birth  the  gods  of  Olympus  are  the  upstarts  of  a  day, 
whose  soul  is  the  treasure-house  of  a  secret  which  threatens  the  realm  of 
heaven,  and  for  whose  unimaginable  doom  earth  reels  to  its  centre,  all  the 
might  of  divinity  is  put  forth,  and  Hades  itself  trembles  as  it  receives  its 
indomitable  and  awful  guest  ?  Yet,  it  is  the  very  grandeur  of  .ZEschylus 
that  must  have  made  his  poems  less  attractive  on  the  stage  than  those  of 
•the  humane  and  flexible  Sophocles.  No  visible  representation  can  body 
forth  his  thoughts — they  overpower  the  imagination,  but  they  do  not  come 
home  to  our  household -and  familiar  feelings. 

In  the  contrast  between  the  '  Philoctetes'  and  the  i  Prometheus'  is  con- 
densed the  contrast  between  ^Eschylus  and  Sophocles.  They  are  both 
poets  of  the  highest  conceivable  order ;  but  the  one  seems  almost  above 
appeal  to  our  affections — his  tempestuous  gloom  appals  the  imagination ; 
the  vivid  glare  of  his  thoughts  pierces  the  innermost  recesses  of  the  in- 


495  A.C.]  SOPHOCLES.  297 

tellect,  but  it  is  only  by  accident  that  he  strikes  upon  the  heart.  The 
other,  in  his  grandest  flights,  remembers  that  men  make  his  audience, 
and  seems  to  feel  as  if  art  lost  the  breath  of  its  life  when  it  aspired  be- 
yond the  atmosphere  of  human  intellect  and  human  passions.  jEschylus 
is  no  less  artful  than  Sophocles  ;  but  between  them  there  is  this  wide  dis- 
tinction— JEschylus  is  artful  as  a  dramatist  to  be  read ;  Sophocles,  as  a 
dramatist  to  be  acted.  If  we  remove  the  actors,  the  stage,  and  the  au- 
dience, JEschylus  will  thrill  and  move  us  no  less  than  Sophocles,  though, 
through  a  more  intellectual,  if  less  passionate,  medium.  A  poem  may 
be  dramatic,  yet  not  theatrical — may  have  all  the  effects  of  the  drama  in 
perusal,  but  by  not  sufficiently  enlisting  the  skill  of  the  actor — nay,  by 
soaring  beyond  the  highest  reach  of  histrionic  capacities,  may  lose  those 
effects  in  representation. 

Thus  the  very  genius  of  .ZEschylus,  that  kindles  us  in  the  closet, 
must  often  have  militated  against  him  on  the  stage.  But  in  Sophocles 
all — even  the  divinities  themselves — are  touched  with  humanity;  they 
are  not  too  subtle  nor  too  lofty  to  be  submitted  to  mortal  gaze.  We 
feel  at  once  that  on  the  stage  he  ought  to  have  won  the  prize  from  ^Es- 
chylus;  for,  if  we  look  at  the  plays  of  the  latter,  we  shall  see  that 
scarcely  any  of  his  great  characters  could  have  called  into  sufficient  exer- 
cise the  powers  of  an  actor.  Prometheus  on  his  rock,  never  changing 
even  his  position,  never  absent  from  the  scene,  is  denied  all  the  relief, 
the  play  and  mobility,  that  a  representation  requires.  His  earthly  repre- 
sentative could  be  but  a  grand  reciter. 

To  conclude,  therefore,  we  may  remark,  that  while  JEschylus  and  So- 
phocles were  both  artists  of  the  very  highest  order  of  merit — as  geniuses 
always  must  be — yet  the  art  of  the  latter  adapts  itself  better  to  represen- 
tation than  that  of  the  former.  And  this  distinction  in  art  is  not  attrib- 
utable to  the  fact  that  Sophocles  followed  JEschylus  in  the  order  of  time. 
Had  jEschylus  followed  Sophocles  it  would  equally  have  existed — it  was 
the  natural  consequence  of  the  distinctions  in  their  genius — the  one  more 
sublime,  the  other  more  impassioned — the  one  exalting  the  imagination, 
the  other  touching  the  heart.  jEschylus  is  the  Michael  Angelo  of  the 
drama,  Sophocles,  the  Raphael. 


Kntnn  tljf  Cttulftlj. 

EURIPIDES.— NEOPHRON.— ION.—ARISTARCHIJS.— ACH^EITS— CARCI- 
NUS.— XENOCLES.— AGATHON.— CH^EREMOK— THEODECTES. 


THE  excellences  of  Euripides,  the  third  of  the  three  distinguished 
Grecian  tragic  poets,  are  so  great,  and  his  defects,  when  compared 
with  ^schjlus  and  Sophocles,  so  manifest,  that  it  is  difficult  to  deter- 
mine whether  his  dramas  show  an  advance  or  a  decline  in  tragic  poetry. 
One  thing,  however,  is  certain — that  the  characteristic  features  of  his 
writings  indicate  a  new  era  in  the  public  taste ;  while  an  independent 
boldness  of  thought  which  pervades  them,  proves  that  he  was  not  willing 
to  be  a  mere  imitator  even  of  the  beauties  and  perfections  of  others,  or 
to  belong  to  any  particular  school ;  but  was  quite  able  to  strike  out  a 
new  line  for  himself. 

In  the  works  of  -ZEschylus,  Sophocles,  and  Euripides,  may  be  traced 
the  natural  law  of  progress  in  literary  taste.  These  three  eminent  poets 
seem,  as  the  leading  minds  of  their  age,  succeeding  each  other  at  such 
intervals  as  to  occupy  amongst  them  the  period  of  three  generations,  to 
be  the  representatives  and  directors  of  popular  taste  in  its  gradual  growth 
and  development.  The  mysterious  and  supernatural  wonders  of  ^Eschylus 
are  succeeded  by  the  dignified  and  heroic,  but  still  natural,  characters  of 
Sophocles ;  and  these,  in  their  turn,  give  place  to  the  romance  of  private 
every-day  life,  the  unexaggerated  picture  of  manners,  in  which  the  human 
heart  arid  the  affections,  which  influence  it  in  its  domestic  relations,  con- 
stitute the  leading  subject.  A  view  of  human  nature  is  exhibited,  which 
shocks  us  at  first  as  embodying  a  low  standard,  but  which  is,  in  fact,  not 
below  reality.  In  it  one  of  the  great  moving  springs  of  action  is  the  love 
of  the  sexes :  it  unites  tenderness  with  weakness — the  pathos  of  the 
tragic,  with  the  wit  of  the  comic  poet,  and  is  seasoned  with  a  shrewd  and 
subtle  knowledge  of  human  nature.  It  is  not  even  averse  to  the  bril- 
liant sophisms  of  a  selfish  and  worldly  philosophy!  Such  are  the  prin- 
cipal features  of  the  drama  of  Euripides,  and  which  distinguish  it  from 
that  of  JEschylus  and  Sophocles. 


300  EURIPIDES.  [LECT.  XII. 

.^Eschylus,  in  the  language  of  Aristotle,  elevated  his  characters  above 
the  attributes  of  human  nature ;  Sophocles  represented  men  as  they 
should  be  ;  and  Euripides,  as  they  really  are.  The  sublime  and  daring 
JEschylus  resembles  some  strong  and  impregnable  castle,  situated  on  a 
rock,  whose  martial  grandeur  awes  the  beholder — its  battlements  de- 
fended by  heroes  in  arms,  and  its  gates  proudly  hung  with  trophies. 
Sophocles  appears  with  splendid  dignity,  like  some  imperial  palace  of 
richest  architecture,  the  symmetry  of  whose  parts,  and  the  chaste  mag- 
nificence of  the  whole,  delight  the  eye  and  command  the  approbation  of 
the  judgment.  The  pathetic  and  moral  Euripides  has  the  solemnity  of 
a  Gothic  temple,  whose  stained  windows  admit  a  dim  religious  light, 
enough  to  show  us  its  high  embowered  roof,  and  the  monuments  of  the 
dead  which  rise  in  every  part,  impressing  our  minds  with  pity  and  terror 
at  the  uncertainty  and  short  duration  of  human  greatness,  and  with  an 
awful  sense  of  our  own  mortality. 

The  judgment  that  would  prefer  Euripides  to  JEschylus  and  Sophocles 
may  be  a  degenerate  one,  but  it  must  be  evident  to  every  reflecting 
mind,  that  such  is  the  usual  progress  of  national  literary  taste,  through 
its  three  phases  of  unreal  mysticism,  historic  truth,  and  romantic  fiction. 
The  individual  mind  exhibits  the  same  phenomena  in  the  growth  and 
unfolding  of  the  imaginative  powers,  which  are,  of  course,  those  cultivated 
by  poetry.  The  child  delights,  first,  in  the  supernatural  wonders  of  the 
fairy  tale ;  next,  he  descends  from  the  beings  of  another  world,  and  takes 
an  interest  in  the  heroes,  and  kings,  and  princes,  as  recorded  in  biography 
and  history ;  and  it  requires  time  before  he  can  take  an  interest  in  the 
love-scenes  and  every-day  occurrences  of  a  novel,  or  the  deeper  and  more 
intense  trials  and  other  realities  of  human  life.  One  thing  is,  perhaps, 
certain — that  of  all  poets,  either  ancient  or  modern,  Euripides  was, 
beyond  comparison,  the  most  pathetic  : 

He  steeped  in  tears  the  piteous  lines  he  wrote — 
The  tenderest  bard  that  e'er  impassioned  song. 

The  birth  of  Euripides  occurred  in  troubled,  but  glorious  times.  "When 
the  Persians  invaded  Greece,  and  poured  their  myriads  down  upon  Attica, 
threatening  Athens  itself  with  immediate  destruction,  Themistocles,  the 
Athenian  leader,  advised  his  countrymen  to  abandon  their  native  city, 
and  to  trust  to  their  fleet  for  protection.  Amongst  the  exiles  the  parents 
of  Euripides,  Mnesarchus  and  Clito,  left  their  home,  and  took  shelter  in 
the  island  of  Salamis.  In  Salamis,  on  the  river  Euripus,  a  small  stream 
flowing  from  the  interior  of  the  island,  into  the  strait,  Euripides  was  born, 
on  the  twenty-third  of  September,  480  A.C. — the  same  day  on  which  the 
Persian  fleet  was  there  defeated  by  the  fleet  of  the  Greeks.  Thus  the 
three  great  tragic  poets  of  Athens  were  brought  into  connection  with  the 


4SOA.C.]  EURIPIDES.  301 

most  glorious  day  in  her  annals ;  for,  while  Euripides  then  first  saw  the 
light,  .ZEschylus,  in  the  maturity  of  manhood,  fought  in  the  battle,  and 
Sophocles,  a  beautiful  youth  in  his  sixteenth  year,  took  part  in  the  chorus 
at  the  festival  which  celebrated  the  victory. 

With  respect  to  the  condition  in  life  of  the  parents  of  Euripides,  va- 
rious and  very  contradictory  statements  have  been  made.  Stobaeus  ob- 
serves that  his  father  was  a  Bo3otian,  and  was  banished  from  his  native 
country  for  bankruptcy ;  and  according^  to  Aristophanes  and  other  comic 
poets,  his  mother  was  an  herb-seller  of  even  questionable,  character.  On 
the  oth'e^r  hand,  Suidas  asserts  that  the  family  of  Euripides  was  of  rank 
far  from. mean ;  and  this  assertion  is  sustained  by  what  Athenaeus  reports 
from  Theophrastus,  that  the  poet,  when  a  boy,  was  cup-bearer  to  a  chorus 
of  noble  Athenians  at  the  Thargelian  festival — an  office  for  which  nobil- 
ity of  blood  was  requisite.  We  know  also  that  he  was  taught  rhetoric  by 
Prodicus,  who  was  certainly  far  from  moderate  in  his  terms  for  instruc- 
tion, and  who  was  in  the  habit,  as  Philostratus  informs  us,  of  seeking  his 
pupils  among  youths  of  high  rank. 

Mnesarchus,  the  father  of  the  future  poet,  in  accordance  with  a  time- 
honored  custom  amongst  the  Greeks,  consulted  the  Delphic  Oracle  im- 
mediately after  his  son's  birth,  in  order  to  ascertain  his  destiny  in  life. 
To  his  inquiries  the  oracle  made  the  following  ambiguous  reply : — 

Happy  Mnesarchus  heaven  hath  given  a  son ; 
The  listening  jvorld  shall  witness  his  renown 
And  with  glad  shouts  bestow  the  sacred  crown. 

In  consequence  of  this  prediction,  his  father  had  him  trained  in  gymnas- 
tic exercises ;  and  such  soon  became  his  proficiency  in  these  exercises, 
that,  while  yet  a  boy,  he  won  the  prize  at  the  Eleusinian  and  Thesean 
contests,  and  offered  himself,  when  only  seventeen  years  old.,  as  a  candi- 
date at  the  Olympic  games,  but  was  not  admitted  on  account  of  some 
doubt  about  his  age.  Some  trace  of  his  early  gymnastic  pursuits  has 
been  noticed  in  the  detailed  description  of  the  combat  between  Eteocles 
and  Polynices  in  the  Phoenissae. 

Early  abandoning,  however,  the  gymnasium,  Euripides  next  turned  his 
attention  to  the  art  of  painting,  in  which  he  was  equally  successful ;  and 
it  has  been  observed  that  the  veiled  figure  of  Agamemnon  in  the  Iphige- 
nia  of  Timanthes  was  probably  suggested  by  a  line  in  Euripides'  de- 
scription of  the  same  scene.  To  philosophy  and  literature  he  also  de- 
voted himself  with  much  energy,  studying  physics  under  Anaxagoras,  and 
rhetoric,  as  we  have  already  remarked,  under  Prodicus.  We  learn,  also, 
from  Athenseus  that  he  was  a  collector  of  books,  and  it  is  recorded  of  him 
that  he  committed  to  memory  certain  treatises  of  Heraclitus,  which  he 
found  in  the  temple  of  Artemis,  and  which  he  was  the  first  to  introduce 


302  EURIPIDES.  [LECT.  XII. 

to  the  notice  of  Socrates.  That  he  was  intimate  with  the  latter,  there 
can  be  no  doubt ;  but  there  can  be  no  foundation  for  the  statement  of 
Gellius,  that  he  received  instruction  from  him  in  moral  science,  for  Eu- 
ripides was  thirteen  years  old  at  the  time  of  Socrates'  birth. 

Traces  of  the  teaching  of  Anaxagoras  have  been  noticed  in  many  pass- 
ages both  of  the  extant  plays,  and  of  the  fragments  of  Euripides,  and  were 
impressed  especially  on  the  lost  tragedy  of  Melanippas  tlie  Wise.  The 
philosopher  is  also  supposed  to  be  alluded  to  in  certain  lines  of- the  Al- 
cestes.  Hence,  says  Mailer,  {  We  do  not  know  what  induced  a  person 
with  such  tendencies  to  devote  himself  to  tragic  poetry.'  He  is  referring 
apparently  to  the  opposition  between  the  philosophical  convictions  of  Eu- 
ripides and  the  mythical  legends  which  formed  the  subjects  of  tragedy; 
otherwise  it  does  not  clearly  appear  why  poetry  should  be  thought  incom- 
patible with  philosophical  pursuits.  If,  however,  we  may  credit  the  ac- 
count in  Gellius,  it  would  seem — and  this  is  not  unimportant  for  an  esti- 
mation of  his  poetical  character — that  the  mind  of  Euripides  was  led,  at 
a  very  early  period,  to  that  which  afterwards  became  the  business  of  his 
life,  since  he  wrote  a  tragedy  at  the  age  of  eighteen.  That  it  was,  there- 
fore, exhibited,  and  that  it  was  probably  no  other  than  the  Rhesus,  are 
points  unwarrantably  concluded  by  the  German  critic  Hartung,  who 
ascribes  to  the  same  date  also  the  composition  of  the  Veiled  Hippolytus. 

The  representation  of  the  Peliades,  the  first  play  of  Euripides  that  was 
acted,  at  least  in  his  own  name,  took  place  455  A.C.,  when  the  author 
was  in  the  twenty-fifth  year  of  his  age.  In  441  A.C.  he  gained,  for  the 
first  time,  the  first  prize ;  and  he  continued  to  exhibit  plays  regularly, 
until  408  A.C.,  the  date  of  the  Orestes,  receiving,  during  the  period  of 
thirty-three  years,  the  first  prize  on  fifteen  occasions.  This,  when  we  re- 
member that  Sophocles  was  one  of  his  constant  competitors,  must  be  ac- 
knowledged lo  have  been  a  very  large  number  of  triumphs. 

Notwithstanding  Euripides'  dramatic  success,  he  was  far  from  being 
happy  in  Athens.  The  constant  and  virulent  attacks  of  Aristophanes  and 
other  comic  poets  upon  his  character  and  principles,  finally  raised  a  strong, 
violent,  and  unscrupulous  party  against  him  ;  and  he,  therefore,  soon  after, 
the  representation  of '  Orestes,'  left  his  native  city,  and  retired  to  the 
court  of  Archelaus,  King  of  Macedonia,  where  he  was  received  with  every 
mark  of  honor  and  distinction.  Archelaus  at  once  raised  him  to  the 
most  exalted  position  at  his  court — making  him  first,  one  of  his  counsel- 
lors of  State,  and  afterwards  his  prime  minister.  Euripides  did  not, 
however,  long  live  to  enjoy  his  new  dignities ;  for  two  poets  at  the  court 
of  Archelaus,  Arrhidaeus  and  Cratenas,  becoming  envious  of  his  position 
and  influence,  let  the  king's  furious  hounds  loose  upon  him  while  he  was 
leisurely  strolling  through  one  of  the  royal  parks,  and  by  them  the  old 


480A.C.]  EURIPIDES.  303 

poet  was  immediately  torn  to  pieces.     This  sad  event  occurred  406  A.C., 
and  when  Euripides  was  in  the  seventy- sixth  year  of  his  age. 

When  the  intelligence  of  Euripides'  death  reached  Athens,  the  deepes 
gloom  spread  throughout  the  whole  city.  The  magistrates  ordered  that 
every  citizen,  without  distinction  of  rank,  should  wear  the  usual  badge 
of  mourning  for  thirty-eight  days,  and  a  deputation  should  be  sent  to  the 
king  of  Macedonia,  requesting  the  delivering  up  of  his  remains  for  public 
burial.  -  This  request  Archelaus  declined,  but  caused  the  burial  to  be 
performed  at  Pella,  his  capital,  with  the  most  magnificent  solemnity. 
Even  Sophocles,  the  strenuous  and  inveterate  rival  of  Euripides,  was  so 
sensible  of  the  extraordinary  merits  of  the  latter,  and  so  deeply  regretted 
his  death,  that  at  the  representation  of  his  next  play  he  directed  his 
actors  to  appear  uncrowned. 

Nor  was  the  reputation  of  Euripides  confined  to  the  Athenians,  who, 
immediately  after  his  death,  according  to  Pausanias,  erected  a  magnifi- 
cent statue  to  his  memory ;  but  even  the  distant  Sicilians  and  Cuinseans 
could  appreciate  and  even  feel,  the  power  of  his  numbers.  The  former, 
after  the  disastrous  termination  of  the  Athenian  expedition  against 
Syracuse,  released  and  permitted  to  return  to  their  native  country,  all 
those  persons  who  could  repeat  any  of  his  verses ;  and  the  latter,  on  one 
occasion,  having  at  first  refused  to  admit  into  their  harbor  an  Athenian 
ship  pursued  by  pirates,  allowed  it  to  enter  as  soon  as  they  found  that 
some  of  the  crew  could  repeat  fragments  of  his  poems.  The  following 
elegant  epigram  to  his  memory,  by  an  anonymous  author,  is  preserved  in 
one  of  the  Greek  Anthologies  : — 

Divine  Euripides,  this  tomb  we  see 

So  fair,  is  not  a  monument  for  thee, 

So  much  as  thou  for  it ;   since  all  will  own, 

Thy  name  and  lasting  praise  adorn  the  stone. 

Such  was  the  life  of  Euripides  ;  and  although,  during  the  greater  part 
of  his  career  the  contemporary  of  Sophocles,  he  belongs  to  a  new  genera- 
tion, and  represents,  a  new  phase  of  the  Athenian  mind.  The  age  in 
which  he  flourished  was  an  age  of  philosophy  rather  than  of  poetry.  The 
warmth  of  genius  was  now  succeeded  by  the  cold  calculations  and  inge- 
nius  subtleties  of  speculative  criticism  ;  and  Euripides,  whether  his  was 
a  master  mind  that  led  the  public  taste,  or  his  plays  merely  an  indication 
of  what  was  the  state  of  the  Athenian  mind,  evidently  delighted  in  the 
nice  distinctions  of  a  sophistical  philosophy  in  brilliant  and  sharp  an- 
titheses, startling  paradoxes,  hair-splitting  arguments,  a  dexterous  use  of 
language,  like  that  of  the  Athenian  lawcourts,  and  an,  affectation  of 
pedantic  ornament. 

But  the  greatest  innovation  which  Euripides  made  upon  the  estab- 
lished usages  of  the  tragic  art,  was  entirely  of  a  philosophical  nature ; 
and  though  they  may  be  objectionable,  they  certainly  show  him  to  have 


304  EURIPIDES.  [LEOT.  XII. 

been  a  man  of  independent  thought  and  fearless  courage.  It  is  said  that 
"on  one  occasion,  during  the  representation  of  one  of  his  tragedies,  the 
audience  clamorously  demanded  that  a  sentiment  which  it  contained 
should  be  expunged  ;  but  the  poet  came  forward,  and  boldly  told  them 
that  he  came  there  to  instruct,  and  not  to  be  instructed.  His  philosoph- 
ical mind  saw  the  untruthful  aspect  under  which  sentiment  as  well  as 
characters  had  been  presented  to  theatrical  audiences ;  and  he  therefore 
resolved  to  curb  his  genius,  and  confine  himself  to  the  results  of  his  ob- 
servation and  experience.  This  is  the  reason  for  the  common-place,  un- 
romantic  view  which  Euripides  takes  of  human  nature.  He  does  not 
transport  himself  into  the  world  of  ideal  heroism,  but  brings  down  gods 
and  heroes  to  a  level  with  Athenian  citizens,  with  the  very  auditory  that 
fills  the  theatre,  and  witnesses  the  dramas  which  he  represents. 

In  the  tragedies  of  Euripides  there  is  more  truth  and  less  poetry,  than 
in  those  of  either  JEschylus  or  Sophocles.  They  probably  present  a 
fair  and  just  picture  of  Athenian  life  and  manners,  and  mtfdes  of  think- 
ing. Euripides  did  not  transgress  the  custom  of  deriving  his  plots  from 
the  usual '  heroic  and  mythical  sources,  but  his  heroes  were  no  longer  the 
same,  except  in  name,  with  those  of  -ZEschylus  and  Sophocles ;  they  ar- 
gued, disputed,  and  conversed  like  Athenian  citizens,  who  had  received 
their  theoretical  education  in  the  schools  of  the  philosophers,  and  the 
practical  training  in  the  law  courts  and  the  ecclesia.  His  dramas  were 
unnatural,  inasmuch  as  they  did  violence  to  the  traditional  belief,  with 
which  the  Athenian  mind  was  imbued,  and  represented  characters,  with 
which  they  had  been  familiar  from  time  immemorial,  in  a  different  moral 
garb  to  that  which  they  had  hitherto  worn.  They  were  natural,  inas- 
much as  they  represented  men  and  women,  such  as  wese  to  be  met  with 
in  the  intercourse  of  <daily  life,  and  the  places  of  public  resort  at  Athens. 

The  peculiar  feature  in  the  structure  of  the  tragedies  of  Euripides,  is  the 
regular  prologue  with  which  he  opens  each  play.  This  feature,  although 
not  unusual,  was  not  an  essential  portion  of  the  .Athenian  drama ;  in 
fact  jEschylus  has  prefixed  prologues  to  but  few  of  his  plays,  and  Sopho- 
cles to  none.  Euripides,  on  the  other  hand,  has  made  use  of  prologues 
in  all  cases,  and  evidently  piqued  himself  on  his  skill  in  their  composi- 
tion. The  principal  objection  brought  against  the  prologue  is,  that  it 
not  only  made  the  audience  acquainted  with  all  that  it  was  necessary 
for  them  to  know  previous  to  the  time  when  the  action  is  supposed  to 
commence,  but  also  anticipated  the  events,  and,  therefore,  the  interest 
of  the  play.  JThis  was,  doubtless,  in  some  instance's,  the  case ;  as,  for 
example,  in  the  '  Hecuba,'  the  l  Ion,'  and  the  '  Troades.'  But  it  must 
be  remembered,  that,  owing  to  the  well-known  sources  from  which  tragic 
plots  were  derived,  this  was  not  so  great  an  evil  as  we  should  at  first 
imagine.  Athenian  audiences  could  witness  with  the  greatest  delight,  the 


480  A.D.]  EURIPIDES.  305 

representation  of  a  play,  the  plot  of  which  was  almost  the  same  aS  those 
of  many  former  tragedies,  and  which  was  founded  on  incidents  with  which 
they  had  been  familiar  from  childhood.  This  does  not,  however,  appear 
to  have  been  the  objection  which  struck  the  mind  of  the  principal  Athe- 
nian critics.  It  is  far  more  probable  that  the  reasons  which  rendered 
them  offensive  to  Athenian  taste  were — first,  that  it  was  an  unartistic 
and  clumsily-contrived  method  of  bringing  about  the  catastrophe,  which 
ought,  according  to  all  the  rules  and  precedents  of  classic  art,  to  have 
been  effected  by  the  regular  and  natural  action  of  the  play  itself;  and 
secondly,  that  the  constant  and  uniform  indulgence  in  this  habit  struck 
the  nice  and  discriminating  taste  of  an  Athenian  audience  as  stupid  and 
monotonous;  their  fickle  and  volatile  nature  looked  for  variety  and  novelty 
of  construction,  and  they  could  not  expect  much  novelty  of  plot. 

Euripides'  plays  are,  strictly  speaking,  plays  of  the  passions,  and 
from  a  dramatist  whose  great  art  lay  in  exciting  the  softer  emotions 
we  naturally  look  for  great  sweetness  and  beauty  in  his  lyrical  poetry. 
Nor  are  we  disappointed ;  fof  his  choral  odes  and  lyric  pieces  are  the 
most  tender,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  sweetest  of  his  compositions; 
and  his  monodies,  or  soto  passages,  are  absolutely  unrivalled.  Illustra» 
tive-of  these  remarks  we  need  only  introduce  the  specimens  which  follow. 
The  first  is  from  the  Cyclops — a  most  interesting  and  important  relic 
of  antiquity,  as,  in  it,  we  have  the  only  example  of  the  satirical  drama 
that  has  been  handed  down  to  modern  times.  Inferior  as  Euripides  is 
to  j3Eschylus  and  Sophocles  in  art  and  taste,  he  has,  in  this  case,  been 
happy  in  the  choice  of  a  subject  singularly  suited  to  the  purpose,  and 
has  adorned  it  with  all  the  graces  of  elegant  simplicity.  The  following 
passage,  besides  its  beauty,  is  a  pleasing  specimen  of  the  poetry  which  so 
frequently  adorned  the  ancient  satiric  drama : 

In  yon  trench,  by  yonder  cave, 
Slake  your  thirst,  your  fleeces  lave; 
Or  if  ye  must  wander  still, 
Seek  at  least  the  dewy  hill: 
Must  a  pebble  bring  you  back, 
Flung  across  your  wilful  track ; 
Hie  thee  horned  one,  back  again 
To  the  shepherd  Cyclops'  den; 
See,  the  porter  stands  before 
His  rustic  master's  rocky  door : 
Mothers,  hear  your  sucklings  bleating, 
For  their  evening  meal  entreating ; 
Penned,  the  live-long  day  they  lie, 
Now  give  them  food  and  lullaby. 

Will  ye  never,  never  learn  ^ 

From  the  grassy  mead  to  turn; 
Never  rest,  when  day  grows  dim, 
In  ^Eu  a's  grot,  each  weary  limb. 
20 


306  EURIPIDES.  [LECT.  XII. 

To  the  passage  from  the  c  Cyclops,'  we  add  the  following  extracts  from 
Euripides'  choruses : 


FROM  A  CHORUS  IN  THE  HECUBA. 

The  fatal  hour  was  midnight's  calm, 

When  the  feast  was  done,  and  sleep  like  balm 

Was  shed  on  every  eye. 
Hush'd  was  the  chorus  symphony, 

The  sacrifice  was  o'er. 
My  lord  to  rest  his  limbs  had  flung, 
His  idle  spear  in  its  place  was  hung, 

He  dreamed  of  foes  no  more. 
And  I,  while  I  lost  my  lifeless  gaze, 
In  the  depth  of  the  golden  mirror's  blaze; 

That  my  last  light  task  was  aiding, 
Was  wreathing  with  fillets  my  tresses'  maize, 

And  with  playful  fingers  braiding. 
Then  came  a  shout; 

Through  the  noiseless  city  the  cry  rang  out, 
1  Your  homes  are  won,  if  ye  scale  the  tower, 
Sons  of  the  Greeks  1  is  it  not  the  h'our  ?'  . 


FROM  THE  CHORUS  IN  THE  ALCESTIS. 

We  will  not  look  on  her  burial  sod, 

As  the  cell  of  sepulchral  sleep : 
It  shall  be  as  the  gjhrine  of  a  radiant  god, 
And  the  pilgrim  shall  visit  that  blest  abode, 

To  worship  and  not  to  weep. 
And  as  he  turns  his  steps  aside, 

Thus  shall  lie  breath  his  vow — 
Here  slept  a  self-devoted  bride; 
Of  old,  to  save  her  lord  she  died, 

She  is  a  spirit  now. 


The  tragedies  and  other  plays  of  Euripides  still  extant  are  more 
numerous,  and  embrace  almost  as  much  dramatic  ptfetry,  as  the  remains 
of  all  the  other  Grecian  dramatic  writers  combined.  This  circumstance 
plainly  indicates  the  extent  of  their  popularity  amongst  his  countrymen, 
and  the  care  and  anxiety  with  which  they  were  preserved  by  his  succes- 
sors. The  following  is  the  order,  as  nearly  as  we  can  now  ascertain,  in 
which  they  were  produced  : 

•  Alcestis,  Medea,  Hippolytus,  Hecuba,  Heraclidce,  Supplices,  Ion, 
Hercules  Furens,  Andromache,  Iphigenia  at  Tauris,  Troades,  Electra, 
Helena,  Iphigenia  at  Aulis,  Bacchce,  Phoznissce,  Cyclops,  Orestes. 


480A.C.]  EURIPIDES.  307 

The  '  Alcestis '  is  one  of  the  most  inferior  of  Euripides'  dramas.  It 
is  a  sort  of  tragi-comed^,  and  appears  to  have  been  acted  as  tne  last  of 
four  poems,  instead  of  a  satyric  drama,  to  afford  relief  to  the  audience, 
after  witnessing  a  triology  of  tragedies.  The  incidents  of  the  play  suffi- 
ciently indicate  its  dramatic  character.  Admetus,  the  hero,  allows  his 
wife  to  die  for  him,  and  reproaches  his  father  for  not  having  been  willing 
to  make  the  same  sacrifice  ;  and  when  Hercules  restores  Alcestis  to  life, 
Admetus,  the  sorrowing  widower,  fears  to  receive  her  back  from  the  em- 
braces of  death,  lest  he  should  be  charged  with  incontinence.  Defective 
as  this  play  is,  however,  it  doubtless  perfectly  fulfilled  its  destination, 
which  was,  to  furnish  a  cheerful  conclusion  to  a  series  of  real  tragedies, 
and  thus  relieve  the  mind  from  the  stress  of  tragic  feeling  which  they 
had  occasioned.  The  song  of  the  chorus,  following  the  death  of  Alcestis, 
is  in  one  of  Euripides  peculiarly  happy  strains : 

Ch.     Daughter  of  Pelias!  now  farewell! 
Since  thou  must  forever  dwell 
In  the  subterranean  halls 
Where  the  sun's. light  never  falls. 
Let  the  god,  .whose  tresses  flow 
With  a  glooming  blackness,  know, 
And  the  Rower,  old  and  dread, 
Ferry  man  of  all  the  dead. 
That  this  woman  is  the  best, 
Of  the  rarest  worth  possest, 
It  was  e'er  his^ot  to  take 
O'er  the  Acherontian  lake. 

Thy  praise  shall  minsti^ls  often  tell 
On  the  seven-toned  mountain  shell, 
And  in  solemn  hymns  and  sweet 
Oft  without  the  lyre  repeat, 
Both  in  Sparta,  when  they  keep 
The  Carneun  feast,  nor  sleep, 
While  the  vernal  moon  all  night 
Shineth  on  them  glad  and  bright — 
And  in  Athens,  famed  in  story, 
Rich  in  splendor,  wealth,  and  glory, 
Such  a  theme  thy  death  supplies 
For  the  minstrel's  melodies. 

Would  that  it  did  on  me  depend 
That  thou  shouldst  to  the  light  ascend  1 
.From  the  realm  of  Dis  supreme, 
Where  Cocytns  rolls  his  stream, 
From  the  land  of  shadows  black 
Would  that  f  could  waft  thee  back, 
Bring  thee  up  to  earth  again 
By  the  river  subterane  1 
Thou,  of  women,  thou  alone, 
For  thy  husband's  life  thine  own 


308  EURIPIDES.  [LECT.  XII. 

Didst  to  Hades  freely  give, 
Dying  that  thy  spouse  might  live. 
Lightly  lie  the  earth  o'er  theel 
If  with  other  ever  he 
Link  in  love,  his  children's  hate 
And  our  scorn  upon  him  wait. 

His  mother  was  not  willing  found, 
To  hide  her  body  under  ground, 
"Was  not  willing  though  she  bore  him, 
To  the  grave  to  go  before  him ; 
Nor  did  his  old  father  dare, 
When  they  both  had  hoary  hair, 
Neither  of  them  dared  to  go, 
As  his  substitute  below.  ^ 

But  thou  didst — and  in  the  hour 
Of  thy  youth's    fresh-breathing  flower, 
Ere  life's  loveliest  hues  had  fled, 
Dying  in  thy  husband's  stead. 

The  '  Medea'  is  a  great  and  impressive  picture  of  human  passion,  and 
may  be  regarded  as  a  perfect  model  of  the  tragedies  of  Euripides.  In 
this  play  the  poet  takes  on  himself  the  risk,  and,  in  those  days  it  was  cer- 
tainly no  slight  one,  of  representing,  in  all  her  fearfulness,  a  divorced 
and  slighted  wife :  he  has  done  this  in  the  character  of  Medea,  with  such 
vigor,  that  all  our  feelings  are  enlisted  on  the  side  of  the  incensed  wife, 
and  we  follow  with  the  most  eager  sympathy,  her  crafty  plan  for  obtaining, 
by  dissimulation,  time  and  opportunity  for  the  destruction  of  all  that  is 
dear  to  the  faithless  Jason ;  and,  though  we  cannot  regard  the  catastro- 
phe without  horror,*  we  even  consider  the  murder  of  her  children  as  a 
deed  necessary  under  the  circumstances.  The  exasperation  of  Medea 
against  her  husband,  and  those  who  have  deprived  her  of  his  love,  cer- 
tainly contains  nothing  grand ;  but  the  irresistible  strength  of  this  feel- 
ing, and  the  resolution  with  which  she  casts  aside  all  her  own  interests, 
and  even  rages  against  her  own  heart,  produces  a  really  great  and  tragic 
effect.  The  scene,  which  paints  the  struggle  in  Medea's  breast  between 
her  plans  of  revenge  and  her  love  for  her  children,  will  always  be  re- 
garded as  one  of  the  most  touching  and  impressive  scenes  ever  repre- 
sented on  the  stage.  It  was  such  scenes  as  this  that  induced  Aristotle  to 
pronounce  Euripides  the  most  tragic  of  the  poets.  The  story  upon  which 
this  tragedy  is  founded  is  briefly  as  follows : 

Medea,  the  daughter  of  ^Eetes,  king  of  Colchis,  becoming  enamored 
of  Jason,  the  leader  in  the  Argonautic  expedition,  extricates  him, 
through  her  magical  art,  out  of  all  his  dangers,  and  then  facilitates  his 
acquisition  of  the  celebrated  golden  fleece.  Jason,  through  pretended 
gratitude,  marries  her,  and  they  flee  to  Corinth.  Here,  unmindful  of  his 
obligations,  he  resolves  to  divorce  his  wife,  and  marry  Grlauce,  the  daugh- 


480A.C.]  EURIPIDES.  309 

ter  of  King  Creon.  Creon,  fearing  the  cruelty  and  power  of  Medea,  ban- 
ishes her  and  her  two  sons  from  the  kingdom,  in  order* to  secure  his 
daughter  from  her  revenge.  The  unhappy  Medea,  driven  by  this  insult, 
pretends  to  submit  to  the  sentence ;  and  having  secured  an  asylum  for 
herself  at  Athens,  sends  her  sons  with  rich  presents  to  the  bride ;  and  by 
the  interposition  of  Jason,  succeeds  in  obtaining  her  good  offices  with  the 
king,  to  permit  the  youths  to  remain  at  Corinth,  under  the  protection  of 
their  father.  The  youths  are  sent  back  to  their  mother,  and  Glauce 
hastens  to  array  herself  in  the  splendid  robes  presented  by  her  rival ;  but 
she  soon  finds  that  the .  enchantress  has  infused  a  deadly  poison,  which 
proves  fatal  both  to  herself  and  to  her  father.  Jason,  apprehensive  of 
the  fate  that  may  await  his  sons,  hastens  to  their  rescue  5  but  he  finds,  on 
his  arrival,  that  Medea  has  already  sacrificed  them  as  an  expiation  of  the 
infidelity  of  her  husband,  whose  agony  she  derides ;  and,  defying  his 
resentment,  flies  through  the  air  with  her  slaughtered  children,  in  a  chariot 
drawn  by  winged  dragons. 

From  this  impressive  and  deeply-interesting  tragedy,  we  select  the  fol- 
lowing scene  : 

NURSE  OF  MEDEA. 

0,  that  the  gallant  Argo  had  not  wing'd 

Her  course  to  Colchis,  through  the  clashing  rocks 

Of  the  black  Euxine ;   that  in  Pelion's  groves 

The  pine  had  ne'er  been  fell'd,  nor  at  the  oars 

The  heroes'  hands  had  labor'd  when  they  sought 

The  golden  fleece    for    Pelias:   then  my  queen, 

Medea,  had  not  plough'd  the  watery  way 

To  tower'd  lolcos,  maddening  with  the  love 

Of  Jason;  nor,  the  daughters  won  to  slay 

Their  father  Pelias,  had  she  fixed  her  seat 

At  Corinth,  with  her  husband  and  her  sons; 

A  pleasing  flight  indeed  to  those,  whose  land 

She  made  her  residence :   while  every  thought, 

Studious  to  aid  him,  was  on  Jason  fix'd. 

This  is  the  state  of  firmest  happiness, 

When  from  the  husband  no  cUscordant  will 

The  wife  estranges  ;  but  their  dearest  ties 

Of  love  are  loosen'd;    all  is  variance  now 

And  hate :   for  Jason,  to  his  children  false, 

False  to  my  mistress,  for  a  royal  bride 

Hath  left  her  couch,  and  wedded  Creon's  daughter, 

Lord  of  this  land.     Ill  doth  Medea  brook 

This  base  dishonor ;   on  his  oath  she  calls, 

Recalls  their  plighted  hands,  the  firmest  pledge 

Of  mutual  faith,  and  calls  the  gods  to  witness 

What  a  requital  she  from  Jason  finds. 

Of  food  regardless,  and  in  sorrow  sunk 

She  lies,  and  melts  in  tears  each  tedious  hour 

Since  first  she  knew  her  lord  had  injured  her; 


310  EURIPIDES.  [LECT.  XII 

Nor  lifts  her  eye,  nor  lifts  her  face  from  the  earth, 

D£af  to  her  friends'  entreaties  as  a  rock, 

Or  billow  of  the  sea;  save  when  she  turns 

Her  snowy  neck,  and  to  herself  bewails        4 

Her  father,  and  her  country,  and  her  house, 

"Which  she  betray'd  to  follow  this  base  man, 

Who  treats  her  now  with  such  indignity. 

Affliction  now  hath  taught  her  what  it  is 

Not  to  forsake  a  parent  and  his  house. 

She  hates  her  children,  nor  with  pleasure  sees  them. 

I  fear  her  lest  she  form  some  strange  design; 

For  violent  her  temper,  and  of  wrongs 

Impatient:  well  I  know  her,  and  I  fear  her, 

Lest,  in  the  dead  of  night,  when  all  are  laid 

In  deep  repose,  she  steal  into  the  house, 

And  plunge  into  their  breast  the  piercing  sword; 

Or  murder  ev'n  the  monarch  of  the  land, 

Or  the  new-married  Jason,  on  herself 

Drawing  severer  ills :    for  like  a  storm 

Her  passions  swell :  and  he  that  dares  enrage  her 

Will  have  small  cause  to  boast  his  victory. 

But  see  her  sons  from  the  gymnastic  ring 

Returning,  heedless  of  their  mother's  ills; 

For  youth  holds  no  society  with  grief. 

TUTOR,  with  the  sons  of  MEDEA — NURSE. 

Tut.    Thou  old  domestic  servant  of  my  mistress, 
Why  dost  thou  take  thy  station  at  the  gates, 
And  ruminate  in  silence  on  thy  griefs  ? 
How  hath  Medea  wish'd  to  be  alone  ? 

Nur.    Thou  good  old  man,  attendant  on  the  sons 
Of  Jason,  faithful* servants  with  their  lords 
Suffer  in  their  afflictions,  and  their  hearts 
Are  touch'd  with  social  sorrow  ;   and  my  griefs 
Swell,  for  Medea's  sufferings,  to  such  height, 
That  strong  desire  impell'd  me  to  come  forth, 
And  tell  them  to  the  earth  and  to  the  skies. 

Tut.    Admits  she  yet  no  respite  to  her  groans  ? 

Nur.     I  wonder  at  thee :  no,  these  ills  but  now 
Are  rising,  to  their  height  not  yet  advanced. 

Tut.    Unwise,  if  of  our  lords  we  so  may  speak; 
Since  she  knows  nothing  of  more  recent  ills. 

Nur.    What  may  this  be  ?     Refuse  not  to  inform  me. 

Tut.     Nothing;   and  I  repent  of  what  I  said. 

Nur.    Nay,  by  thy  beard,  conceal  it  not  from  me, 
Thy  fellow-servant :   if  occasion  calls 
For  secrecy,  in  silence  will  I  keep  it. 

Tut.     I  heard  one  say,  not  seeming  to  attend, 
But  passing  on  to  where  they  play  with  dice, 
Among  the  grave  old  men,  who  then  by  chance  • 
Were  sitting  near  Pirene's  hallow'd  stream, 
That  Creon,  lord  of  this  fair  land,  will  drive 


480A.C.]  .        EURIPIDES.  311 

These  children  and  their  mother  from  the   state 
Of  Corinth :   whether  this  report  be  true 
I  know  not,  but  I  wish  it  otherwise. 

Nur.     Will  Jason  bear  to  see  his  sons  thus  wrong'd, 
Though  he  regards  their  mother  now  no  more  ? 

Tut.     To  new  alliances  the  old  gives  place, 
And  to  the  house  he  is  no  more  a  friend.- 

Nur.    Ruin  would  follow  to  the  former  ill 
If  this  were  added  ere  the  first  subsides. 

Tut.     Be  cautious  then  ;   it  were  unseasonable 
Our  queen  knew  this ;   in  silence  close  thy  lips. 

Nur.     You  hear,  my  children,  how  your  father's  mind 
Is  towards  you :   yet  I  wish  not  ruin  on  him ; 
He  is  my  lord,  though  to  his  friends  unkind. 

Tut.    What  mortal  knows  not — thou  mayst  know  it  hence — 
Each  for  himself  conceives  a  dearer  love 
Than  for  his  neighbor ;   some  by  glory,  some 
By  gain  induced  :   what  wonder,  then,  if  these, 
Of  his  new  nuptials  fond,  their  father  love  not  ? 

Nur.    Go  in,  my  children,  go :  all  will  be  well ; 
And  take  thou  heed,  keep  them  aloof,  nor  let  them 
Come  near  their  mother  while  her  griefs  are  fresh: 
Cruel  her  eye,  and  wild ;   I  mark'd  it  late, 
Expressive  of  some  dark  design  on  these : 
Nor  will  she  check  her  fury,  well  I  know, 
Till  the  storm  bursts  on  some  one :   may  its  stroke 
Fall  on  some  hostile  head,  not  on  a  friend. 

Med.    Wretch  that  I  am,  what  anguish  rends  my  heart ! 
Wretched  Medea,  how  art  thou  undone !  [  Within. 

Nur.     Ay,  thus  it  is.    Your  mother,  my  dear  children, 
Swells  with  resentment,  swells  with  rage :   go  in, 
Go  quickly  in;   but  come  not  in  her  eye, 
Approach  her  not,  but  keep  you  frdm  the  wild 
And  dreadful  fury  of  her  violent  temper. 
Go  now,  go  quickly  in;   this  rising  cloud 
Of  grief  forebodes  a  storm,  which  soon  will  fall 
With  greater  rage:   inflamed  with  injuries,  « 

What  will  not  her  tempestuous  spirit  dare  ? 

Med.     Ah  me !   ah  me  1   what  mighty  wrongs  I  bear, 
Wrongs  that  demand  my  tears  and  loud  laments  1  * 

Ye  sons  accursed  of  a  detested  mother, 
Perish,  together  with  your  father  perish, 
And  in  one  general  ruin  sink  your  house  I 

Nur.     Ah  me  unhappy  !   in  their  father's  fault 
Why  make  thy  sons  associates  ?     Why  on  them 
Rises  thy  hatred?     0,  I  fear,  I  fear, 
My  children,  lest  some  evil  threatens  you. 
Kings  have  a  fiery  quality  of  soul, 
Accustom'd  to  command  ;   if  once  they  feel 
Control,  though  small,  their  anger  blazes  out, 
Not  easily  extinguish'd ;  hence  I  deem 
An  equal  mediocrity  of  life 


312  EURIPIDES.  [LECT.  XIL 

More  to  be  wish'd ;  if  not  in  gorgeous  state, 
Yet  without  danger  glides  it  on  to  age. 
There's  a  protection  in  its  very  name, 
And  happiness  dwells  with  it :  but  the  height 
Of  towering  greatness  long  to  mortal  man 
Remains  not  fix'd;  and  when  misfortune  comes 
Enraged,  in  deeper  ruin  sinks  the  house. 


NURSE. — CHORUS. 

Ch.    I  heard  the  voice,  I  heard  the  loud  laments 
Of  the  unhappy  Oolchian :  do  her  griefs 
(Say,  reverend  matron.)  find  no  respite  yet  I 
From  the  door's  opening  valve  I  heard  her  voice. 
No  pleasure  in  the  sorrows  of  your  house 
I  take  ;   for  deeds  are  done  not  grateful  to  me. 

Nur.     This  is  no  more  a  house ;   all  here  is  vanish'd, 
Nor  leaves  a  trace  behind.     The  monarch's  house 
He  makes  his  own;  while  my  unhappy  mistress 
In  her  lone  chamber  melts  her  life  away 
In  tears,  unmoved  by  all  the  arguments 
Urged  by  her  friends  to  soothe  her  sorrowing  souL 
'  Med.     0  that  the  ethereal  lightning  on  this  head 
"Would  fall !     Why  longer  should  I  wish  to  live  ? 
Unhappy  me !     Death  would  be  welcome  now, 
And  kindly  free  me  from  this  hated  life. 

Ch.     Dost  thou  hear  this,  0  Jove,  0  Earth,  0  Light, 
The  mournful  voice  of  this  unhappy  dame? 
Why  thus  indulge  this  unabated  force 
Of  nuptial  love,  self-rigorous,  hastening  death  ? 
Let  it  not  be  thy  wish:  if  a  new  bed 
Now  charms  thy  husband,  be  not  his  offence 
Engraved  too  deep:   Jove  will  avenge  thy  wrongs; 
Let  not  thy  sorrows  prey  upon  thy  heart. 

Med.     0  powerful  Themis,  0  revered  Diana, 
Sec  what  I  suffer,  though  with  sacred  oaths 
This  vile,  accursed  husband  I  had  bound  ! 
O,  might  I  one  day  see  him  and  his  bride 
Rent  piecemeal  in  their  house,  who  unprovoked 
Have  dared  to  wrong  me  thus  1     Alas,  my  father  ! 
Alas,  my  country  1   whom  my  shameful  flight 
Abandon'd,  having  first  my  brother  slain !          * 

Nur.     You  hear  her  invocations,  how  she  calls 
On  Themis,  prompt  to  hear  the  suppliant's  vows ; 
And  Jove,  the  avenger  of  neglected  oaths 
To  mortal  man :   nor  is  it  possible 
Her  fiery  transports  know  a  moment's  pause. 

Ch.     What  motives  can  be  urged  to  draw  her  forth? 
Could  we  but  see  her,  would  she  hear  our  voice, 
Haply  our  pleaded  reason  might  avail 
To  soothe  her  soul,  and  mitigate  her  rage. 
My  zeal  shall  not  be  wanting  to  my  friends. 


480  A.C.]  EURIPIDES.  313 

Go  then,  persuade  her  forth ;  with  soft  address 
Allure  her  hither.     Haste,  thou  friendly  dame, 
Ere  her  resentment  burst  on  those  within. 
For  her  full  grief  swells  to  a  dreadful  height. 
-Nur.     I  will  attempt  it,  though  I  fear  my  voice 
Will  not  prevail :   yet  does  your  friendly  zeal 
Claim  from  me  this  return :    but  to  her  slaves, 
When  they  approach  to  speak  to  her,  she  bears 
The  aspect  of  a  furious  lioness, 
That  watches  o'er  her  young.     If  thou  shouldst  say 
That  men  of  former  times  were  unadvised, 
Shallow,  and  nothing  wise,  thou  wouldst  not  err ; 
For  festivals,  for  banquets,  and  for  suppers, 
They  form'd  the  sprightly  song  that  charm'd  the  ear, 
Making  life  cheerful ;   but  with  music's  power, 
And  the  sweet  symphony  of  varied  strains, 
They  knew  not  to  assuage  the  piercing  griefs 
That  rack  the  heart,  whence  deaths  and  ruthless  deeds 
Spread  desolation:   here  to  soothe  the  soul 
With  lenient  song,  were  wisdom.     Where  the  feast 
Is  spread   why  raise  the  tuneful  voice  in  vain  ? 
The  table  richly-piled  hath  in  itself  » 

A  cheerfulness  that  wakes  the  heart  to  joy. 

Ch.     I  heard  her  lamentations  mixed  with  groans, 
Which  in  the  anguish  of  her  heart  she  vents ; 
And  on  her  faithless  husband,  who  betray'd 
Her  bed,  she  calls  aloud ;   upon  the  gods, 
Thus  basely  wrong'd,  she  calls,  attesting  Themis, 
Daughter  of  Jove,  the  arbitress  of  oaths, 
Who  led  her  to  the  shores  of  Greece,  across 
The  rolling  ocean,  when  the  shades  of  night 
Darkeu'd  its  waves,  and  steer'd  her,  through  the  straits. 


The  '  Hippolytus,'  though  far  inferior  to  the  Medea  in  unity  of  plan 
and  harmony  of  action,  is,  in  several  points*,  closely  related  to  it.  The 
unconquerable  love  of  Phaedra  for  her  step-son,  which,  when  scorned,  is 
turned  into  a  desire  to  make  him  share  her  own  ruin,  is  a  passion  of  much 
the  same  kind  as  that  of  Medea.  The  passion  of  Phaedra,  however,  is 
not  so  completely  the  main  subject  of  the  whole  play  as  that  of  Medea  : 
the  principal  character,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  is  the  young  Hip- 
polytus, the  model  of  continence,  the  companion  and  friend  of  the  chaste 
Artemis,  whom  Euripides,  in  consequence  of  his  tendency  to  attribute  to 
the  past  the  customs  of  his  own  age,  has  made  an  adherent  of  the  ascetic 
doctrines  of  the  Orphic  school.  The  destruction  of  this  youth,  through 
the  anger  of  Aphrodite,  whom  he  has  despised,  is  the  general  subject  of 
the  play — the  proper  action  of  the  piece  ;  and  the  love  of  Phaedra  is,  in 
reference  to  this  action,  only  a  lever  set  in  motion  by  the  goddess  hostile 
to  Hippolytus.  As  this  plot  turns  entirely  upon  the  selfish  and  cruel 
hatred  of  a  deity,  it  can  afford  but  little  satisfaction ;  but  still  those 


314  EURIPIDES.  [LECT.  XII. 

passages  that  represent  Phaedra's  passion  are  extremely  beautiful.     From 
one  of  these  we  select  the  following : 


PHAEDRA.— -CHORUS. 

STROPHE    I. 

0  Love,  0  Love,  that  through  the  eyes 

Instillest  softly  warm  desire, 
Pleased  in  the  soul,  with  sweet  surprise, 

Entrancing  rapture  to  inspire; 
Never  with  wild  ungovern'd  sway 
Rush  on  my  heart,  and  force  it  to  obey: 

For  not  the  lightning's  fire, 
Nor  stars  swift  darting  through  the  sky, 
Equal  the  shafts  sent  by  this  son  of  Jove, 
When  his  hand  gives  them  force  to  fly, 

Kindling  the  flames  of  love. 

ANTISTROPHE    I. 

In  vain  at  Alpheus'  stream,  in  vain 
*    At  bright  Apollo's  Pythian  shrine. 
Doth  Greece,  the  votive  victim  slain, 

With  reverence  offer  rites  divine: 
To  him  who  holds  the  high  employ 
To  unlock  the  golden  gates  of  love  and  joy, 

No  honors  we  assign; 
The  tyrant  of  the  human  breast, 
That  ravages  where'er  he  takes  his  way, 
And  einks  mankind  with  woes  oppress'd 

Beneath  his  ruthless  sway. 

STROPHE    II. 

Thee,  CEchalia's  blooming  pride, 

Virgin  yet  in  love  untried: 

Ne'er  before  by  Hymen  led, 

Stranger  to  the  nuptial  bed. 

Inexperienced,  hapless  fair, 

From  thy  house  with  wild  affright 

Hastening,  like  the  frantic  dame, 
That  to  the  Bacchic  orgies  speeds  her  flight, 

With  blood,  with  smoke,  with  flame, 

And  all  the  terrors  wild  of  war, 
To  nuptials  stain'd  with  gore  did  Venus  give, 
And  bade  Alcmena's  son  the  beauteous  prize  receive. 

ANTISTROPHE   H. 
Say,  ye  sacred  towers  that  stand 
Bulwarks  of  the  Theban  land ; 
And  ye  streams,  that  welling  play, 
From  the  fount  of  Dirce,  say, 
How  to  you  came  the  Queen  of  Love: 


480  A.C.]  EURIPIDES.  315 

'Mid  the  lightning's  rapid  fire, 

While  around  her  thunders  roar, 
She  caused  the  blasted  Semele  to  expire, 

The  hapless  nymphs  that  bore 

Bacchus  from  the  embrace  of  Jove. 
Thus  over  all  she  spreads  her  tyrant  power, 
As  restless  as  the  bee  that  roves  from  flower  to  flower. 


The  '  Hecuba'  is  another  of  those  tragedies  of  Euripides  in  which  the 
emotions  of  passion,  or  pathos,  in  the  Greek  sense  of  the  word,  is  set 
forth  in  all  its  might  and  energy.  This  play  has  generally  been  regarded 
as  deficient  in  unity  of  action ;  but  if  we  regard  Hecuba  as  the  leading 
character  of  the  piece,  and  refer  all  the  minor  incidents  directly  to  her, 
the  whole  action  will  be  brought  to  an  harmonious  close.  Hecuba,  the 
afflicted  queen  and  mother,  learns  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  piece  a 
new  sorrow;  for  it  is  announced  to  her  that  the  Greeks  demand  the  sac- 
rifice of  her  daughter,  Polyxena,  at  the  tomb  of  Achilles.  The  daughter 
is,  with  this  object  in  view,  torn  from  her  mother's  arms ;  and  it  is  in  the 
willing  resignation  and  noble  resolution  with  which  the  young  maiden 
meets  her  fate,  that  we  have  any  alleviation  of  the  pain  which  we  feel  in 
common  with  Hecuba.  The  sacrifice  being  over,  the  female  servant,  who 
was  sent  to  fetch  water  to  bathe  the  dead  body  of  Polyxena,  discovers,  on 
the  sea-shore,  the  corpse  of  Polydorus,  the  only  remaining  hope  of  his  mo- 
ther Hecuba's  declining  age.  Polydorus  had  been  murdered  by  his  guar- 
dian, Polymnestor,  King  of  Thrace  5  and  the  revolution  of  the  piece  turns 
upon  tMs — that  Hecuba,  though  now  cast  down  into  the  lowest  abyss  of 
misery,  no  longer  gives  way  to  fruitless  wailing ;  but  a  weak,  aged  wo- 
man, a  captive,  and  deprived  of  all  help,  still  she  finds  means  in  her  own 
powerful  and  active  mind,  to  take  fearful  vengeance  on  the  perfidious 
and  cruel  murderer  of  her  son.  With  all  the  craft  of  a  woman,  and  by 
sagaciously  availing  herself  of  the  weak  as  well  as  the  good  side  of  Aga- 
memnon's character,  she  is  enabled,  not  merely  to  entice  the  barbarian  to 
the  destruction  prepared  for  him,  but  also  to  make  an  honorable  defence 
of  «her  deed  before  the  leader  of  the  Grecian  hosts.  The  following  pas- 
sage is  a  fair  indication  of  the  general  poetic  character  of  this  tragedy : 

HECUBA.— CHORUS. 

CHORUS. 

Tell  me,  ye  gales,  ye  rising  gales, 
That  lightly  sweep  along  the  azure  plain, 

Whose  soft  breath  fills  the  swelling  sails, 
And  wafts  the  vessel  dancing  o'er  the  main, 

Whither,  ah !   whither  will  ye  bear 

This  sick'ning  daughter  of  despair  ? 


316 


EURIPIDES. 


[LKOT.  XIL 


What  proud  lord's  rigor  shall  the  slave  deplore 
On  Doric,  or  on  Pythian  shore ! 

Where  the  rich  father  of  translucent  floods, 
Apidanus,  pours  his  headlong  waves, 

Through  sunny  plains,  through  darksome  woods, 
And  with  his  copious  stream  the  fertile  valley  laves? 

Or  shall  the  wave-impelling  oar 
Bear  to  the  hallow'd  isle  my  frantic  woes, 

Beneath  whose  base  the  billows  roar, 
And  my  hard  house  of  bondage  round  enclose  ? 

Where  the  new  palm,  and  laurel  where 

Shoot  their  first  branches  to  the  air, 
Spread  their  green  honors  o'er  Latona's  head, 

And  interweave  their  sacred  shade. 
There,  'midst  the  Delian  nymphs  awake  the  lyre, 

To  the  Diau  sound  the  solemn  strain, 
;"SILer  tresses  bound  in  golden  wire, 

een  of  the  silver  bow,  and  ^goddess  of  the  plain. 
.  where  the  Athenian  towers  arise, 
ana^i  these  hands  weave  the  woof,  whose  radiant  glow 
_,.',, ;Rivals  the  flow'r — impurpled  dies 

in  the  bosom  of  the  young  spring  blow : 

Alas,  my  children!   battle-slain! 
Alas,  my  parents  !     Let  me  drop  a  tear, 

And  raise  the  mournful,  plaintive  strain, 
Your  loss  lamenting  and  misfortune  drear. 

Thee,  chief,  imperial  Troy,  thy  State 

I  mourn  deserted,  desolate; 

Thy  walls,  thy  bulwarks  smoking  on  the  ground, 
The  sword  of  Greece  triumphant  round, 

I,  far  from  Asia,  in  the  wide  sea  borne, 
In  some  strange  land  am  called  a  slave, 

Outcast  to  insolence  and  scorn, 
And  for  my  nuptial  bed  find  a  detested  grave. 

The  interest  of  the  '  Heraclidae'  is  entirely  confined  to  its  political  al- 
lusions. The  play  narrates,  with  much  circumstantial  detail  and  exact- 
ness, the  manner  in  which  the  Heraclidse,  as  poor  persecuted  fugitives, 
find  protection  in  Athens,  and  that  by  the  valor  of  their  own  and  £ne 
Athenian  heroes  they  gain  the  victory  over  their  oppressor,  Eurystheus. 
It  does  not,  nowever,  create  much  tragic  interest. 

The  '  Supplicants'  has  a  very  close  affinity  to  the  Heraclidae.  In  this 
play  a  great  political  action  is  represented  with  circumstantial  detail,  and 
with  an  ostentatious  display  of  patriotic  speeches  and  stories.  The  whole 
action  turns  upon  the  interment  of  the  fallen  Argive  heroes,  which  was  re- 
fused by  the  Thebans,  but  brought  about  by  Theseus.  It  is  highly  proba- 
ble that  the  poet  had  in  view  the  dispute  between  the  Athenians  and 
Bo3otians  after  the  battle  of  Delium,  on  which  occasion  the  latter  refused 
to  give  up  the  dead  bodies  for  sepulture.  The  piece  has,  however,  be- 


480A.C.]  EURIPIDES.  317 

sides  this  political  bearing,  some  independent  beauties,  especially  in  the 

*  songs  of  the  chorus,  which  is  composed  of  the  mothers  of  the  seven  heroes 
and  their  attendants ;    to  which  are  added,  later  in  the  piece,   seven 
youths,  tke  sons  of  the  fallen  warriors. 

The  '  Ion'  possesses  very  great  beauties.  It  is  true  that  no  emi- 
nent character,  no  violent  passion,  predominates  in  the  play.  The  only 
motive  by  which  the  different  personages  in  it  are  actuated  is  a  considera- 
tion of  their  own  advantage.  All  the  interest  lies  in  the  ingenuity  of 
the  plot^  which  is  so  involved  that,  while  on  the  one  hand  it  keeps  our 
expectation  on  the  stretch,  and  agreeably  surprises  us,  on  the  other,  the 
result  is  highly  flattering  to  the  patriotic  wishes  of  the  Athenians. 
Apollo  is  desirous  of  advancing  Ion,  his  son  by  Creusa,  the  daughter  of 
Erectheus,  to  the  sovereignty  of  Athens,  but  without  acknowledging  that 
he  is  his  father.  The  general  object  of  the  play  is  manifestly  to  main- 
tain undimmed  and  undiminished  the  pride  of  the  Athenians  in  their  pure 
descent  from  their  old  earth-born  patriarchs  and  national  kings. 

The  c  Raging  Hercules,'  the  '  Andromache,'  the  c  Iphigenia  at  Tauris,' 
and  the  '  Trojan  Women,'  do  not  require  particular  analysis.  They  were 
all  written  at  an  advanced  period  of  the  poet's  life,  and  bear  evident 
marks  of  the  influence  of  age  upon  his  mind.  Still,  though  deficient  in 
unity  of  design  and  dramatic  effect,  yet  they  abound  with  isolated  beau- 

•  ties  peculiar  to  their  author.     To  the  '  Helena,'  the  '  Bacchse,'  and  the 
1  Phoenician  Women,'  the  same  remarks  are  applicable. 

The  '  Iphigenia  at  Aulis,'  the  c  Electra'  and  the  (  Orestes,'  close  the  list 
of  Euripides'  tragedies. 

The  '  Iphigenia  at  Aulis'  has  evidently  come  down  to  us  in  an  imper- 
fect state.  In  its  really  genuine  and  original  parts,  it  is  one  of  the  most 
admirable  of  the  poet's  tragedies ;  and  it  is  based  on  such  a  noble  idea 
that  we  might  put  it  on  the  same  footing  with  the  works  of  his  better 
days,  such  as  the  Medea  and  Hecuba.  This  idea  is,  that  a  pure  and  ele- 
vated mind,  like  that  of  Iphigenia,  can  alone  find  a  way  out  of  all  the  in- 
tricacies and  entanglements  caused  by  the  passions  and  the  efforts  of 
powerful,  wise,  and  brave  men,  contending  with,  and  running  counter  to, 
one  another.  In  this  play  Euripides  has  had  the  skill  to  invest  the  sub- 
ject with  such  intense  interest,  by  depicting  the  fruitless  efforts  of  Aga- 
memnon to  save  his  child,  the  too  late  compunction  of  Menelaus,  the 
pride  and  courage  with  which  Achilles  offers  himself  for  the  rescue  of  his 
affianced  bride,  and  for  her  defence  against  the  whole  army,  that  the  wil- 
lingness to  sacrifice  herself  appears  as  the  solution  of  a  very  complicated 
knot,  such  as  requires  a  deus  ex  machina  in  Euripides,  and  shines  with 
the  brighte  t  lustre  as  an  act  of  the  highest  sublimity.  This  admirable 
work  is,  however,  unfortunately  disfigured  by  the  interpolation  of  a  num- 


318  EURIPIDES.  [Lsor  XII 

ber  of  passages,  poor  and  paltry  both  in  matter  and  form.     These  addi- 
tions were  probably  made  by  the  younger   Euripides,  who  brought  the " 
play  on  the  stage  after  his  father's  death. 

In  the  '  Electra,'  Euripides  goes  farther  than  in  any  other  of  his  plays, 
in  his  efforts  to  reduce  the  old  mythical  stories  to  the  level  of  every-day 
life.  He  has  invented  an  incident  not  altogether  improbable — -that 
.ZEgisthus  married  Electra  to  a  common  countryman,  in  order  that  her 
children  might  never  gain  power  or  influence  enough  to  endanger  his  life 
— and  this  enables  the  poet  to  put  together  a  set  of  scenes,  representing 
domestic  arrangements  of  the  most  limited  and  trifling  kind,  and  on  which 
most  of  the  incidents  of  the  play  turn.  In  the  concluding  scene,  how- 
ever, he  intimates  an  alteration  in  the  story  of  Helen,  and  introduces 
Menelaus'  sister,  Theonoe,  a  virgin  priestess,  skilled  in  the  future,  but 
full  of  sympathy  for  the  troubles  of  mankind,  and  presiding,  like  a  pro- 
tecting goddess,  over  the  plans  of  Helen  and  her  husband..  This  is  one 
of  the  greatest  and,  at  the  same  time,  most  beautiful  conceptions  of  the 
poet. 

In  the  c  Orestes '  the  hero  is  represented  as  pursued  by  the  Furies, 
in  punishment  for  the  murder  of  his  mother,  Clytemnestra.  Tradition 
remarks  that  this  piece  produced  a  powerful  effect  upon  the  stage,  though 
all  the  characters  in  it  are  bad,  with  the  exception  of  Pylades.  The  fol- 
lowing scene  in  which  Electra  is  watching  over  her  sleeping  brother,  and 
the  Chorus  approaching  his  couch,  is  strikingly  effective  : — 

Elect.    Softly  1   softly  !    fall  the  sound 
Of  thy  footsteps  on  the  ground ! 
Gently  1  gently  !  like  the  breath 
Of  a  lute-song  in  its  death; 
Like  the  sighing  of  a  reed, 
Faintly  murmuring  to  be  freed, 
So  softly  let  thy  whispers  flow. 

Ch.     Like  a  reed,  as  soft  and  low  1 

Elect.     Aye,  low,  low !   but  tell  me  why, 

Damsels,  ye  are  lingering  by  ? 
Long  hath  sorrow  torn*  his  breast  ; 
Now  his  weary  eyes  have  rest. 

Ch.    How  fares  it  with  him?     Dearest,  say. 

Elect.     Sad  and  tearful  is  my  lay. 
Breathing  on  his  couch  he  lieth, 
Still  he  suffereth,  still  he  sigheth. 

Ch.     What  say'st  thou,  mourner  ? 

Elect.  '  Woe  to  thee, 

If  the  dewy  slumber  flee. 

Ch.     Yet  wail  I  his  unhappy  state  ; 
Abhorred  deeds  of  deadly  hate, 
Rage  of  vindictive,  torturing  woes, 
Which  the  relentless  powers  of  heaven  impose. 


480A.C.]  EURIPIDES.  319 

Elect.     Unjust,  unjust,  the  stern  command, 
The  stern  command  Apollo  gave 

From  Themis'  seat,  his  ruthless  hand 
In  blood,  in  mother's  blood,  to  lave. 

Ch.     He  stirs,  he  moves  his  covering  vest. 

Elect.     Wretch,  thy  voice  has  broke  his  rest. 

Ch.    And  yet,  I  think,  sleep  locks  his  eye. 

Elect     Wilt  thou  begone  ?     Hence  wilt  thou  fly, 
That  quiet  here  again  may  dwell  ? 

Ch.     Hush,  hush !   he  sleeps  again — 

Elect.     'Tis  well 

Ch.'  Awful  queen,  whose  gentle  power 
Brings  sweet  oblivion  of  our  woes, 

And  in  the  calm  and  silent  hour, 
Distils  the  blessings  of  repose, — 
Come,  awful  Night  1  . 

Elect.    Softly  let  your  warblings  flow; 
Farther,  a  farther  distance  keep: 

The  far-off  cadence,  sweet  and  low 
Charms  his  repose  and  aids  his  sleep. 

Ch.  Tell  us  what  end 

Awaits  his  miseries  ? 

Elect.  Death!   that  end  I  fear. 

He  tastes  no  food. 

Ch.     Death  then  indeed  is  near. 

Elect.     When  Phoebus  gave  the  dire  command 
To  bathe  in  mother's  blood  his  hand, 
By  whom  the  father  sunk  in  dust, 
He  dootn'd  us  victims. 

Ch.     Dire  these  deeds,  but  just. 

Orest.  (waking.)     0  gentle  Sleep,  whose  lenient  power    thus  soothes 
Disease  and  pain,  how  sweet  thy  visit  to  me, 
Who  wanted  thy  soft  aid  !     Blessing  divine, 
That  to  the  wretched  givest  wished  repose, 
Steeping  their  senses  in  forgetfulness ! 

Where  have  I  been  ?     Where  am  I  ?    How  brought  hither  ? 
My  late  distraction  blots  remembrance  out. 

Elect.     What  heartfelt  joy  to  see  thee  thus  composed! 
Wilt  thou  I  touch  thee?     Shall  I  raise  thee  up? 

Orest.     Assist  me  then,  assist  me ;   from  my  mouth 
Wipe  off  the  clotted  foam;   wipe  my  moist  eyes. 

Elect.    Delightful  office,  for  a  sister's  hand     . 
To  minister  relief  to  a  sick  brother ! 

Orest.     Lie  by  my  side,  and  from  my  face  remove 
These  squalid   locks ;  they  blind  my  darken'd  eyes. 

Elect.     How  tangled  are  the  ringlets  of  thy  hair. 

Orest.  '  Pray,  lay  me  down  again ;   when  this  ill  phrenzy 
Leaves  me.  I  am  feeble,  very  faint. 

Elect.     There,  there;  the  bed  is  grateful  to  the  sick. 

Orest.     Raise  me  again,  more  upright;   bend  me  forward. 

Ch.    The  sick  are  wayward  through  their  restlessness. 

Elect.    Or  wilt  thou  try  with  slow  steps  on  the  ground 
To  fix  thy  feet  ?     Variety  is  sweet. 


320  EURIPIDES.  [LECT.  XII. 

Orest.    Most  willingly ;  it  hath  the  show  of  health : 
The  seeming  hath  some  good,  though  void  of  truth. 

Elect.    Now,  my  loved  brother,  hear  me  while  the  Furies 
Permit  thy  sense  thus  clear  and  undisturbed. 

Orest.    Hast  thou  aught  new  ?     If  good,  I  thank  thee  for  it ; 
If  ill,  I  have  enough  of  ill  already. 

Elect.     Thy  father's  brother,  Menelaus,  arrives; 
His  fleet  lies  anchor'd  in  the  Nauphian  bay. 

Orest.     Comes  he  then  ?     Light  on  our  afflictions  dawns ; 
Much  to  my  father's  kindness  doth  he  owe. 

Elect.     He  comes ;   and  to  confirm  what  now  I  say, 
Brings  Helena  from  Ilium's  ruin'd  walls. 

Orest.    More  to  be  envied,  were  he  saved  alone ; 
Bringing  his  wife,  he  brings  a  mighty  ill. 

Elect.     The  female  race  of  Tyndarus  was  born 
To  deep  disgrace,  and  infamous  through  Greece. 

Orest.     Be  thou  unlike  them  then ;   'tis  in  thy  power ; 
And  farther  than  in  words  thy  virtue  prove. 

Elect.     Alas,  my  brother,  wildly  rolls  thine  eye  : 
So  quickly  changed!     The  frantic  fit  returns. 

Orest.     Ah,  mother  !     Do  not  set  thy  furies  on  me. 
See  how  their  fiery  eye  balls  glare  in  blood. 
And  wreathing  snakes  hiss  in  their  horrid  hair ! 
There,  there  they  stand,  ready  to  leap  upon  met 

Elect.     Rest  thee,  poor  brother,  rest  upon  thy  bed : 
Thou  seest  them  not;  'tis  fancy's  coinage  all 

Orest.     0  Phoabus.  they  will  kill  me !  these  dire  forms, 
These  Gorgon-visagecl  ministers  of  hell. 

Meet.     Thus  will  I  hold  thee,  round  thee  throw  mine  arms, 
And  check  the  unhappy  force  of  thy  wild  starts. 

Orest.     Off;     Let  me  go!     I  know  thee,  who  thou  art — 
One  of  the  Furies — and  thou  grapplest  with  me, 
To  whirl  me  into  Tartarus.     A  vaunt ! 

Elect.    What  shall  I  do?    Ah  me!     Where  shall  I  seek 
Assistance,  since  the  once  friendly  god  frowns  on  us  ? 

Orest.     Bring  me  the  bow  and  horn  which  Phcebus  gave  me, 
And  with  it  bade  me  drive  these  fiends  away, 
Should  they  affright  me  with  their  maddening  terrors. 

Elect.     Can  any  god  by  mortal  hands  be  wounded? 

Orest.     Should  she  not  instant  vanish  from  my  sight— ^ 
Heard  you  the  clang ;   saw  you  the  winged  shaft 
Bound  from  the  distant-wounding  bow  ?     Ha,  ha  ! 
Hear  yet !     On  swift  wings  mount  the  sethereal  air, 
And  there  impeach  the  oracle  of  Phosbus ! — 
Whence  this  disquiet  ?     Why  thus  pants  my  breath  ?— 
Ah,  whither  have  I  wandered  from  my  bed? 
Why  dost  thou  weep,  my  sister  ?     Why  decline 
Thy  drooping  head  and  hide  it  in  thy  vest  ? 
I  blush  to  give  thee  part  in  my  disease, 
And  wound  with  grief  thy  virgin  tenderness. 
Let  not  my  life  be  thus  infectious   to  thee ; 
Thou  barely  didst  assent;   I  did  the  deed; 


480  A.C.]  EURIPIDES.  321 

I  shed  her  blood.     But  Phoebus  I  must  name 

Who  urged  me  to  this  most  unholy  act ; 

Then,   save  with  soothing  words,  assist  me  not. 

Had  these  eyes   seen  my  father,  had  I  asked  him 

In  duty  if  I  ought  to  slay  my  mother  ? 

I  think  he  would  have  prayed  me  not  to  plunge 

My  murdering  sword  in  her  who  gave  me  birth, 

Since  he  could  not  revisit  heaven's  sweet  light 

And  I  must  suffer  all  these  miseries. 

But  now  unveil  thy  face  and  dry  thy  tears, 

My  sister,  though  afflictions  press  us  sore  ; 

And  when  thou  seest  me  in  these  fitful  moods, 

Soothe  my  disordered  sense,  and  let  thy  voice 

Speak  peace  to  my  distraction:  when  the  sigh 

Swells  in  thy  bosom,  'tis  a  brother's  part 

With  tender  sympathies  to  calm  thy  griefs ; 

These  are  the  blessed  offices  of  friends. — 

But  to  thy  chamber  go,  afflicted  maid, 

There  seek  repose,  close  thy  long-sleepless  eyes, 

With  food  refresh  thee  and  the  enlivening  bath. 

Should'st  thou  forsake  me,  or  with  too  close  tendance 

Impair  thy  delicate  and  tender  health, 

Then  were  I  lost  indeed;   for  thou  alone, 

Abandoned  as  I  am,  art  all  my  comfort. 

Elect.     Should  I  forsake  thee  1     No ;   my  choice  is  fiYd ; 
And  I  will  die  with  thee,  or  with  thee  live. 

The  following  brief  fragments  are  too  fine  to  be  lost : — 


FRAGMENTS. 


Dear  is  that  valley  to  the  murmuring  bees ; 
And  all,  who  know  it,  come  and  come  again. 
The  small  birds  build  there ;   and  at  summer  noon, 
Oft  have  I  heard  a  child,  gay  among  flowers, 
As  in  the  shining  grass  she  sate  concealed, 
Sing  to  herself  *  *  *  * 

II. 

This  is  true  liberty,  when  free-born  men, 
Having  to  advise  the  public,  may  speak  free; 
Which  he  who  can  and  will,  deserves  high  praise: 
Who  neither  can,  nor  will,  may  hold  his  peace: 
What  can  be  juster  in  a  State  than  this  ? 

in. 

There  is  a  streamlet  issuing  from  a  rock. 
The  village'-girls  singing  wild  madrigals, 
Dip  their  white  vestments  in  its  waters  clear, 
And  hang  them  to  the  sun.    There  first  I  saw  her. 

21 


322  TRAGIC    POETS.  [LECT.  XII. 

Her  dark  and  eloquent  eyes,  mild,  full  of  fire, 
'Twas  heaveu  to  look  upon;  and  her  sweet  voice, 
As  tuneable  as  harp  of  many  strings, 
At  once  spoke  joy  and  sadness  to  my  soul ! 

The  reputation  of  JEschylus,  Sophocles,  and  Euripides  as  tragic  poets 
was  such,  that  Athens,  after  their  death,  distinguished  them  and  their 
works  by  founding  institutions  the  object  of  which  was  to  preserve  their 
dramas  pure  and  unadulterated,  and  to  protect  them  from  being  altered 
or  interpolated  at  the  caprice  of  actors.  Eventually  they  were  entirely 
withdrawn  from  the  stage,  and  confined  to  the  archives  of  the  city,  to  be 
consulted  only  on  the  most  important  occasions.  When  Ptolemy  Phila- 
delphus,  king  of  Egypt,  desired  to  grace  his  library  at  Alexandria  with  a 
copy  of  the  plays  of  Euripides,  and  requested  the  magistrates  of  Athens 
to  allow  him  to  take  a  copy  of  them  for  that  purpose,  they  required  of 
him  a  pledge  of  nine  Attic  talents — a  sum  equal  to  nine  thousand  dol- 
lars— for  the  safe  return  of  the  originals.  The  work  being  completed, 
the  king  retained  the  original  plays,  returned  the  copy,  and  forfeited  his 
pledge. 

We  are  not,  however,  to  conclude  that  the  contemporaries  of  those 
great  poets  were  insignificant  writers ;  for  a  number  of  them  not  only 
maintained  their  place  on  the  stage  beside  them,  but  frequently  gained 
the  tragic  prize  in  competition  with  them.  Yet,  though  their  separate 
productions  may  have  been  sufficiently  happy  to  merit  the  approbation 
of  the  public,  the  general  character  of  these  poets  must  have  been  de- 
ficient in  that  depth  and  peculiar  force  of  genius  by  which  the  great  tra- 
gedians were  distinguished.  Hence  the  facility  with  which  their  works 
sank  into  oblivion. 

The  chief  of  the  contemporaries  and  successors  of  the  great  tragic 
poets  of  Athens  were,  Neophron,  Ion,  Aristarchm,  Achceus,  Carcinus, 
Xenocles.  Agathon,  Chceremon,  and  Theodictes.  Of  these  poets  our  de- 
sign requires  that  we  should  give  but  a  very  brief  notice. 

Neophron  was  a  native  of  Sicyon,  and,  according  to  Suidas,  was  the 
author  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  dramas ;  of  which,  however,  little  far- 
ther is  known.  The  '  Medea,'  one  of  his  plays,  is  said  to  have  furnished 
Euripides  with  the  plot  of  his  great  tragedy  of  the  same  name. 

Ion  was  born  at  Chios,  .but  inr  his  youth  he  removed  to  Athens, 
where  he  passed  the  remainder  of  his  life.  He  lived  on  terms  of  intimacy 
with  Cimon  and  .ZEschylus,  and  enjoyed  the  esteem  of  most  of  the  great 
men  of  that  period.  Besides  tragedies,  he  wrote  history,  philosophy, 
lyric,  elegiac,  and  dithyrambic  poems,  and  forty  fables.  He  did  not  write 
tragedies,  however,  till  after  the  death  of  jEschylus,  when  he  became  a 
competitor  for  the  tragic  prize,  and  was  once  successful.  Ion  is  said,  by 


480  A.C.]  TRAGIC    POETS.  323 

Lor^inus,  to  have  been  surnamed  '  The  Eastern  Star,'  because  he  died 
while  writing  an  ode  which  began  with  these  words.  The  beauty  and  ex- 
cellence of  his  poetry,  according  to  the  same  critic,  consisted  rather  in  the 
absence  of  faults  than  in  the  presence  of  sublime  ideas.  He  wrote  with 
polish,  correctness,  and  graceful  ornament,  but  without  the  fire  and  en- 
thusiasm of  genius.  Ion  was  one  of  the  five  canonical  tragic  poets  of  the 
Alexandrian  grammarians. 

Aristarchus  was  of  Tegea,  and  commenced  his  dramatic  career  at 
Athens  454  A.C.  Little  is  known  of  him  as  a  dramatic  writer,  farther 
than  that  he  was  the  first  to  produce  tragedies  according  to  the  standard 
of  greater  length  which  was  subsequently  observed  by  Sophocles  and  Eu- 
ripides. Some  of  his  tragedies,  particularly  his  Achilles,  were  very  pop- 
ular with  the  Romans,  and  were  imitated  by  Ennius. 

Achaeus  was  a  native  of  Eretria,  and  was  born  484  A.C.  The  titles 
of  seventeen  of  his  tragedies  are  still  extant,  and  he  is  said  to  have  exhib- 
ited many  more,  though  he  gained  but  one  prize.  His  principal  merit 
seems  to  have  been  as  a  writer  of  satiric  dramas.  His  manner  was  exr 
tremely  artificial,  and  his  expressions  often  forced  and  obscure ;  but  not- 
withstanding these  peculiarities,  he  obtained  the  favorable  opinion  of 
many  ancient  critics,  who  considered  him  the  best  writer  of  satiric  plays 
after  JEschylus.  Achaeus  was  also  admitted  into  the  Alexandrian  canon. 

Carcinus,  with  his  sons,  forms  a  family  of  tragedians,  known  to  us 
chiefly  from  the  jokes  and  mockeries  of  Aristophanes.  The  father  was 
a  tragedian,  and  the  sons  appeared  as  choral  dancers  in  his  plays ;  only 
one  of  them,  Xenocles,  also  devoted  himself  to  poetry,  As  far  as  we  can 
judge  from  a  few  hints,  both  father  and  son  were  distinguished  by  a  sort 
of  antiquated  harshness  in  their  mode  of  expression.  Yet  Xenocles,  with 
his  tragic  trilogy,  (Edipus,  Lycaon,  Bacchce,  and  the  satirical  drama 
At/mmas,  gained  the  prize  over  the  trilogy  of  Euripides  to  which  the 
Troades  belonged.  A  later  tragedian  by  the  name  of  Carcinus  was  a 
native  of  Agrigentum  in  Sicily. 

Agathon  was  a  very  singular  character.  He  belonged  to  a  very 
wealthy  Athenian  family,  and  presented  his  first  tragedy  to  the  public 
416  A.C.,  when  he  was  in  the  thirtieth  year  of  his  age.  The  latter  part 
of  his  life  he  passed  at  the  court  of  Archelaus,  King  of  Macedon,  where 
he  died  about  400  A.C.  His  strange  demeanor  and  habits  afforded  to 
Aristophanes  and  Plato  an  opportunity  of  giving  some  sketches  of  him, 
which  bring  the  man  before  our  eyes  in  the  most  vivid  and  striking  man- 
ner. Naturally  delicate  and  effeminate,  both  in  body  and  in  mind,  he 
gave  himself  up  entirely  to  his  prevailing  mood,  and  coquetted  with  a 
sort  of  grace  and  charm  with  which  he  endeavored  to  invest  everything 


324  TRAGIC    POETS.  r    [LECT.  XII. 

that  he  undertook.  The  lyrical  part  of  his  tragedies  was  an  amiableland 
insinuating  display  of  cheerful  thoughts  and  kindly  images,  but  did  not 
penetrate  deeply  into  the  feelings.  The  most  celebrated  of  his  dramas 
was  entitled  the  Flower,  the  possession  of  which,  from  its  original  and 
peculiar  character,  we  should  very  highly  prize. 

The  families  of  these  great  poets  themselves,  contributed  very  essen- 
tially to  continue  the  tragic  art  after  their  deaths.  .ZEschylus  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  succession  of  tragedians  who  flourished  through  several  gene- 
rations. His  son,  Euphorion,  sometimes  brought  out  plays  of  his  father's 
which  had  not  been  represented  before,  sometimes  dramas  of  his  own,  and 
he  gained  the  tragic  prize  in  competition  with  both  Sophocles  and  Euri- 
pides. Philocles  also,  a  nephew  of  -ZEschylus,  gained  the  prize  against 
the  King  (Eclipus  of  Sophocles,  notwithstanding  the  peculiar  excellences 
of  that  great  work.  Astydamas,  another  relative  of  ^Eschylus,  brought  out, 
after  the  Peloponnesian  war,  no  less  than  two  hundred  and  forty  dramas, 
and  gained  fifteen  victories. 

Of  the  family  of  Sophocles,  lophon  was  an  active  and  popular  tragedian 
in  his  father's  lifetime,  and  Aristophanes  speaks  of  him  in  unqualified 
terms  of  praise.  Some  years  afterwards  the  younger  Sophocles,  the 
grandson  of  the  great  poet,  came  forward,  at  first  with  the  legacy  of  un- 
published dramas  which  his  grandfather  had  left  him,  and  soon  after  with 
plays  of  his  own.  As  he  gained  the  prize  twelve  times,  he  must  have 
been  one  of  the  most  prolific  poets  of  the  day,  and  the  most  formidable 
rival  of  Astydamas.  The  younger  Euripides,  a  son  or  nephew  of  the 
great  poet,  also  gained  some  reputation  by  the  side  of  these  descendants 
of  .ZEschylus  and  Sophocles.  He  bears  the  same  tragic  relation  to  his 
uncle  or  father,  that  Euphorion  bears  to  ^Eschylus,  and  the  younger  So- 
phocles to  his  grandfather — having  first  brought  out  plays  written  by  his 
renowned  kinsman,  and  then  tried  the  success  of  his  own  productions. 

From  the  time  that  the  immediate  successor  whom  we  have  named, 
of  the  great  tragic  poets,  left  the  stage,  tragedy  became  subordinate  to 
other  branches  of  literature.  The  lyric  poetry  and  the  rhetoric  of  the 
age  had  an  especial  influence  on  its  form.  It  was  losing  more  and  more 
every  day  the  predominance  of  ideas  and  feelings,  and' that  the  minor 
accessories  of  composition,  which  were  formerly  subjected  to  the  ruling 
conceptions,  were  now,  as  it  were,  gradually  becoming  independent  of 
them.  It  hunts  about  for  stray  charms  to  gratify  the  senses,  and  con- 
sequently loses  sight  of  the  true  object,  to  elevate  the  thoughts  and  en- 
noble the  sensibilities. 

Chaeremon,  who  flourished  about  380  A.C.,  possessed  so  much  of  the 
lyrical  poetry  of  his  time,  that  he  completely  sacrificed  the  variety  of 


356  A.C.]  TRAGIC    POETS.  325 

character  to  a  striving  after  metrical  variety  of  expression.  In  his 
1  Centaur]  which  seems  to  have  been  a  most  extraordinary  compound  of 
epic,  lyric,  and  dramatic  poetry,  he  mixed  up,  according  to  Aristotle,  all 
kinds  of  metres.  His  dramatic  productions  were  rich  in  descriptions, 
which  did  not,  like  those  of  the  old  tragedians,  belong  to  the  pieces,  and 
contribute  to  place  in  a  clearer  light  the  condition,  the  relations,  and  the 
deeds  of  some  person  engaged  in  the  action,  but  sprung  altogether  from  a 
fondness  for  delineating  subjects  which  produce  a  pleasing  impression 
on  the  senses.  But  with  this  mixture  of  foreign  ingredients  tragedy 
ceases  to  be  a  drama,  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word,  in  which  everything 
depends  on  the  causes  and  developments  of  actions,  and  on  manifestations 
of  the  will  of  man. '  Accordingly,  Aristotle  calls  Chseremon  a  poet  to 
be  read,  and  says  that  he  is  careful  and  accurate  in  details,  like  a  pro- 
fessed writer  whose  sole  object  is  the  satisfaction  of  his  reader. 

Theodectes  was  born  at  Phaselis,  about  356  A.C.,  but  soon  removed 
to  Athens  where  he  continued  permanently  to  reside.  Rhetoric  was  his 
chief  study,  though  he  also  applied  himself  to  philosophy.  He  belongs 
to  the  scholars  of  Isocrates,  and  though  he  left  the  rhetorical  school  for 
the  tragic  stage,  he  never  gave  up  his  original  pursuits,  but  appeared 
both  as  an  orator  and  a  tragedian.  At  the  splendid  funeral  feast,  which 
the  Carian  queen,  Artemisia,  instituted  in  honor  of  Mausolus,  the  husband 
for  whom  she  mourned  so  ostentatiously,  353  A.C.,  Theodectes,  in  competi- 
tion with  Theopompus  and  other  orators,  delivered  a  panegyric  on  the  de- 
.  ceased,  and  at  the  same  time  produced  a  tragedy,  the  Mausolus,  the  ma- 
terials for  which  were  probably  borrowed  from  the  mythical  traditions  or 
early  history  of  Caria.  Theodectes'  dramas  so  perfectly  suited  the  cor- 
rupt taste  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  that  out  of  fifteen  tragic  contests 
he  gained  eight  victories.  They  were  all,  however,  displays  of  rhetoric 
rather  than  of  poetry. 


Kttlnn  fyt  €ljirtntttJK 

COMEDY. 

SUSARIOK— MYLLUS.—  EUETES.— EUXONIDES.— CHIONIDES.- -MAGNES. 
— ECPHANTIDES.  —  EPICHARMUS.— PHORMIS.  —  CRATINUS.— EUPO 
LIS.— CRATES.— PLATO.— PHERECRATES.— PHILON  A  DES,  <feo. 

THE  origin  of  the  Greek  comedy  was  similar  to  that  of  tragedy.  As 
the  latter  was  the  development  of  the  dithyrambic  chorus,  so  the 
former  grew  out  of  the  phallic  songs.  At  the  rural  festivals,  in  which 
the  country-loving  Greeks  took  such  intense  delight,  when  the  harvest  or 
the  vintage  was  over,  a  band  of  jovial  revellers  formed  dances  and  pro- 
cessions, bearing  aloft  in  triumphant  merriment  the  emblem  of  fertility 
and  increase,  so  prominent,  not  only  in  Greek,  but  also  in  ^Egyptian  and 
Asiatic  worship.  The  leader  sung  a  broad  convivial  song,  while  the  rest 
joined  in  a  rude  and  boisterous  chorus.  In  these  rustic  rejoicings  we 
discern  the  first  gleam  both  of  the  dramatic  and  choral  portions,  and 
hence  the  custom  of  the  song  and  the  dance  accompanying  the  reveller, 
and  the  etymology  of  the  term  comedy — the  song  or  ode  of  the  Comus. 

Comedy,  like  tragedy,  was  at  first,  according  to  Aristotle,  entirely 
extempore — rude  and  biting  jests,  indecent  and  licentious  songs,  such  as 
might  be  expected  from  the  nature  of  the  phallic  ceremony,  accompanied 
by  gestures,  like  those  of  mountebanks,  delighted  the  admiring  crowd. 
This  amusement  first  assumed  a  tangible  form  in  Icaria,  one  of  the  prov- 
;nces  of  Attica,  and  the  inhabitants  of  this  district  first  incorporated  it 
with  the  worship  of  Dionysus  or  Bacchus,  which  they  are  said  to  have 
introduced  into  Greece.  According  to  an  ancient  chronicle  Susarion,  a 
native  of  Megara,  and  a  contemporary  of  Solon,  was  in  the  habit  of  amusing 
the  Icarians  by  carrying  from  place  to  place,  on  carts,  his  company  of 
buffoons,  whose  faces,  instead  of  being  concealed  by  masks,  were  smeared 
with  the  lees  of  wine.  Hence  his  actors  were  called  lee-singers,  and 
comedy  acquired  the  name  of  the  lee-song. 

Susarion,  to  whom  the  origin  of  Attic  comedy  is  ascribed,  was  the  son 


328  SUSARION.  [LECT.  XII. 

of  Philinus,  and  a  native  of  Tripodiscus,  a  village  in  the  Megaric  terri- 
tory, whence  he  removed  into  Attica,  to  the  village  of  Icaria,  a  place 
celebrated  as  a  seat  of  the  worship  of  Dionysus.  The  claim  of  the  Mega- 
rians,  which  is  generally  admitted,  to  the  invention  of  comedy,  is  based 
upon  this  circumstance.  Before  the  time  of  Susarion  there  were,  doubt- 
less, practiced  at  Icaria  and  the  other  Attic  villages,  that  extempore  jest- 
ing and  buffoonery  to  which  we  have  already  alluded,  and  which  formed 
a  marked  feature  of  the  festivals  of  Dionysus  ;  but  Susarion  was  the  first 
who  so  regulated  this  species  of  amusement,  as  to  lay  the  foundation  of 
Comedy,  properly  so  called.  The  time  at  which  this  important  step  was 
taken  can  be  pretty  accurately  ascertained.  The  Megaric  comedy  appears? 
to  have  flourished  in  its  full  development  as  early  as  600  A.C.  ;  and  it 
was  introduced  by  Susarion  into  Attica  about  575  A.C. 

That  the  comedy  introduced  by  Susarion  into  Attica  partook  of  the 
rudeness  and  buffoonery  of  that  of  Megara,  may  be  reasonably  supposed ; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that,  in  his  hands,  a  great 
and  decided  advance  was  made  in  the  character  of  the  composition,  which 
now,  in  fact,  for  the  first  time,  deserved  that  name.  One  change,  which 
he  introduced,  is  alone  sufficient  to  mark  the  difference  between  an  un- 
regulated exercise  of  wit,  and  an  orderly  composition — the  adoption,  into 
his  pieces,  of  the  metrical  form  of  language.  It  is  not,  however,  to  be 
inferred  from  this,  that  the  comedies  of  Susarion  were  written ;  on  the 
contrary,  they  were  brought  forward  solely  through  the  medium  of  the 
chorus,  which  Susarion,  doubtless,  subjected  to  certain  rules. 

Of  the  nature  of  Susarion's  subjects  we  have  no  certain  knowledge ; 
but  it  can  hardly^  be  conceived  that  his  comedies  were  made  up  entirely 
of  the  mere  jests  which  formed  the  staple  of  the  Megaric  comedy; 
although  there  could  only  have  been  a  very  imperfect  approach  to  any- 
thing like  connected  arguments  or  plots.  The  improvements  of  Susarion 
on  the  Megaric  comedy,  which  he  introduced  into  Attica,  consisted  in  the 
substitution  of  premeditated  metrical  conmositions,  for  irregular  extem- 
poraneous effusions,  and,  to  some  extent,  the  regulatipn  of  the  chorus. 
It  was  long  before  this  new  species  of  composition  took  firm  root  in  At- 
tica ;  for  we  hear  nothing  more  of  it  until  eighty  years  after  the  time  of 
Susarion,  when  the  art  was  revived  by  Myllus,  Euetes,  Euxonides,  and 
Chionides.  This  will  not,  however,  surprise  us  if  we  recollect  that  this 
long  interval  is  almost  entirely  filled  up  by  the  long  tyranny  of  Pisis- 
tratus  and  his  sons,  who  would  feel  it  due  to  their  dignity  and  security 
not  to  allow  a  comic  chorus,  even  under  the  mask  of  Bacchic  inebriety 
and  merriment,  to  utter  ribald  jests  against  them  before  the  assembled 
people  of  Athens ;  as  understood  by  the  Athenians  of  those  days,  com- 
edy could  not  be  brought  to  perfection  except  by  republican  freedom 
and  equality.  This  was  the  reason  why  comedy  continued  so  long  an  ob- 


487  A.C.]  SUSARION.  329 

scure  amusement  of  noisy  rustics,  which  no  archon  superintended,  and 
which  no  particular  poet  was  willing  to  avow:  although,  even  in  this 
modest  retirement,  it  made  some  sudden  advances,  and  developed,  com- 
pletely, its  dramatic  form. 

The  tyranny  of  the  Pisistratidse  being  overthrown,  and  the  fullest  liberty 
enjoyed  by  the  people  of  Athens,  the  comic  spirit  at  once  revived ;  and 
under  the  guidance  of  Myllus,  Euetes,  and  Euxenides,  became  a  prominent 
species  of  entertainment. 

Myllus,  according  to  Eustathius,  was  an  actor  as  well  as  a  dramatist, 
and  still  adhered  to  the  old  practice  of  having  the  faces  of  his  actors  be- 
smeared with  red  ocre.  He  appears  to  have  been  especially  successful  in 
the  representation  of  a  deaf  man,  who,  nevertheless,  hears  everything ; 
whence  arose  the  proverb, '  None  so  deaf  as  those  who  will  not  hear.'  As 
no  fragments  of  his  comedies  have  been  preserved,  we  have  no  means  of 
judging  of  his  poetic  merits.  Euetes  and  Euxenides,  are  mentioned  by 
Suidas  as  the  contemporaries  of  Myllus,  and  his  fellow  laborers  in  reviv- 
ing the  comedy  of  Susarion ;  but  nothing  farther  is  known  of  them. 

Chionides,  Magnes,  and  Ecphantides,  immediately  followed  the  three 
comic  poets  above  mentioned  in  the  order  of  time,  and  doubtless  reduced 
their  dramas  to  a  much  more  definite  form. 

Chionides  is  placed  by  Aristotle  and  Suidas  at  the  head  of  the  old 
school  of  comedy — not  in  the  order  of  time,  but  as  the  poet  who  gave  to 
the  Athenian  comedy  that  form  which  it  retained  down  to  the  time  of 
Aristophanes,  and  of  which  the  old  comic  lyric  songs  of  Attica,  and  the 
Megaric  buffoonery  imported  by  Susarion,  were  only  the  rude  elements. 
He  commenced  his  dramatic  career  eight  years  before  the  Persian  war, 
that  is,  487  A.C.,  but  time  has  spared  us  no  fragments  of  his  dramas  by 
which  to  judge  of  their  poetic  merits. 

Magnes  was  a  native  of  the  province  of  Icaria,  in  Attica,  and  is  men- 
tioned by  Aristotle  as  contemporary  with  Chionides.  In  a  passage  of 
the  Knights  of  Aristophanes,  the  poet  upbraids  the  Athenians  for  their 
inconsistency  towards  Magnes,  who  had  been  extremely  popular,  but  lived 
to  find  himself  out  of  fashion.  The  cause  of  the  declension  in  his  popu- 
larity was,  that  in  his  latter  plays  he  restricted  the  mimetic  element  which 
had  prevailed  in  the  earlier  comedy,  introduced  much  less  of  low  buffoon- 
ery, and  thus  refused  to  pander  to  the  taste  of  the  audience.  This  char- 
acteristic of  Athenian  comedy,  which  Magnes  had  the  honor  of  originating, 
Aristophanes  and  his  contemporary  comic  poets  afterwards  carried  to 
perfection.  Magnes,  according  to  Suidas,  exhibited  many  comedies,  and 
gained  eleven  prizes;  and  it  is  worthy  of  notice  that  he  is  the  earliest 
comic  poet  of  whom  we  find  any  victories  recorded.  Of  the  whole  number 
of  his  dramas  not  half  a  dozen  lines  have  been  preserved. 


330  EPIC  HARM  US.  [LKCT.  XIII. 

Ecphantides  was  a  native  of  Athens,  and  a  contemporary  of  Magnes. 
He  seems,  in  his,  comedies,  to  have  occupied  a  kind  of  middle  ground, 
between  the  old  Megaric  comedy,  and  the  refined  school  of  Cratinas  and 
his  associates ;  for  while  he  ridiculed  the  rudeness  of  the  former,  he  was 
himself  ridiculed  on  the  same  ground  by  the  latter.  His  personal  char- 
acter appears  to  have  been  not  so  elevated  as  that  of  his  associates ;  and 
hence  a  sirname  was  bestowed  upon  him  by  his  rival,  which  seems  to  im- 
ply a  mixture  of  subtlety  and  obscurity.  Ecphantides  owned  a  slave 
named  Choerilus,  of  rare  endowments,  by  whom  he  is  said  to  have  been 
assisted  in  the  composition  of  his  plays.  He  was  the  first  Athenian  coinic 
poet  from  whom  the  expense  of  providing  his  chorus-singers  was  removed. 
Of  all  his  plays  but  a  single  line  has  been  preserved. 

While  Chionides  and  his  associate  dramatists  were  perfecting  the  form 
of  the  Megaric  comedy  in  Athens,  Epicharmus  and  Phormis  of  Sicily, 
commenced  their  career  as  comic  writers  in  their  native  island ;  and  if  we 
may  rely  upon  the  statement  of  Aristotle  they  soon  so  far  surpassed  their 
Attic  contemporaries,  as  to  be  considered  by  all  antiquity  the  founders 
of  the  regular  Greek  comic  drama. 

Epicharmus  was  born  in  the  island  of  Cos,  about  540  A.C.  His  father 
Elothales,  was  a  physician  of  the  race  of  the  Asclepiads,  and  the  profes- 
sion of  medicine  seems  to  have  been  followed  for  some  time  by  Epichar- 
mus himself,  and  also  fcy  his  brother.  At  the  age  of  three  months  he  was 
carried  by  his  father  to  Megara,  in  Sicily,  where,  having  been  educated 
he  remained  until  the  city  was  destroyed  by  Gelon,  tyrant  of  Syracuse, 
484  A.C.  After  the  destruction  of  Megara,  Epicharmus  took  up  his 
residence  in  Syracuse,  and  there  spent  the  remainder  of  his  life,  which 
was  prolonged  throughout  the  reign  of  Hiero,  at  whose  court  he  associated 
with  JEschylus,  Simonides,  Pindar,  and  other  distinguished  writers  of 
that  period.  He  died  at  the  advanced  age  of  ninety-seven,  44d  A.C.,  and 
to  his  memory  the  city  of  Syracuse  erected  a  statue,  with  the  following 
inscription,  as  preserved  by  Diogenes  Laertius : 

The  starry  train  as  far  as  Phoebus  drowns, 
And  ancient  Ocean  his  unequal  sons  ; 
Beyond  mankind  we'll  Epicharmus  own, 
On  whom  just  Syracuse  bestow'd  the  crown. 

In  order  to  perceive  more  clearly  the  source  whence  Epicharmus  re- 
ceived his  first  ideas  of  the  early  comic  poetry,  we  must  remember  that 
Megara,  in  Sicily,  was  a  colony  from  Megara  in  Greece,  where,  as  we 
have  already  observed,  a  species  of  comedy  was  known  as  early  as  tjie 
sixth  century  before  the  Christian  era.  This  comedy  was,  of  course, 
found  by  Epicharmus  in  the  Sicilian  Megara  ;  and  seizing  upon  its  rude 


540A.C.]  EPICHARMUS.  331 

elements,  he  reduced  them  to  a  regular  plot,  and  appropriated  the 
whole  to  mythological  subjects.  He  did  not,  however,  confine  himself  to 
these,  but  embraced  also  in  his  dramas  subjects  political,  moral,  relat- 
ing to  manners  and  customs,  and  even  to  personal  character.  His  per- 
sonal comedies,  however,  were  rather  general  than  particular,  and  re- 
semble the  subjects  treated  by  the  writers  of  the  new  comedy ;  so  that 
when  the  ancient  critics  enumerated  him  among  the  poets  of  the  old 
comedy,  they  must  be  understood  to  refer  rather  to  his  antiquity  in  point 
of  time,  than  to  any  close  resemblance  between  his  works  and  those  of 
the  old  Attic  comedians. 

Epicharmus  was  educated  in  the  school  of  Pythagoras,  and  this  may 
account  for  his  stern  moral  maxims,  and  the  peculiarities  of  his  style, 
which  appears  to  have  been  a  curious  mixture  of  the  broad  buffoonery 
that  distinguished  the  old  Megarian  comedy,  and  of  the  sententious  wis- 
dom of  the  Pythagorean  philosopher.  His  language  was  remarkably 
elegant,  his  epithets  choice  and  delicate,  and  his  plays,  which  were  all 
written  in  the  Doric  dialect,  abounded,  as  the  extant  fragments  show,  with 
philosophical  and  moral  maxims,  and  with  long  speculative  discourses. 
Miiller  observes  that,  'if  the  elements  of  his  dramas,  which  we  have 
discovered  singly,  were  in  his  plays  Tcombined,  he  must  have  set  out 
with  an  elevated  and  philosophical  view,  which  enabled  him  to  satirize 
mankind  without  disturbing  the  calmness  and  tranquillity  of  his  thoughts; 
while,  at  the  same  time,  his  scenes  of  common  life  were  marked  with  the 
acute  and  penetrating  genius  which  characterized  the  Sicilians.' 

Epicharmus,  though  he  passed  the  early  part  of  his  life  in  philosoph- 
ical pursuits,  medical  studies,  and  the  instruction  of  youth,  was  still  a 
very  liberal  benefactor  to  the  stage.  According  to  Suidas,  he  was  the 
the  author  of  fifty-two  dramas ;  and  this  statement  cannot  be  far  from 
correct,  as  modern  philologists  have  given  the  titles  of  forty,  with  the 
authorities  by  which  they  are  ascertained.  From  these  we  select  such 
as  indicate  the  themes  of  his  personal  comedies : 

The  Husbandman — The  Banditti — Earth  and  Sea — The  Father  of 
the  People — The  Bacchanalians — Hope — The  Festival — The  Reasoner 
— The  Chatter  lings — The  Pedagogues— The  Statesman— The  Potters 
—Hebe's  Wedding. 

The  following  brief  fragments  are  all  that  remain  of  the  writings  of 
this  interesting  poet.  The  first  is,  in  all  probability,  from  '  Hebe's  Wed- 
ding;' and  here  we  may  remark  that  there  is  no  subject  upon  which  the 
ancient  comic  poets  whet  their  wit  more  frequently  tha'n  marriage.  The 
wives  of  Syracuse  could  not  have  been  much  obliged  to  Epicharmus  for 
the  following  sally : 


332  EPIC  HARM  US.  [LECT.  XIII. 


MARRIAGE. 

Marriage  is  like 

A  cast  of  dice  1    Happy  indeed  his  lot 
Who  gets  a  good  wife— one  of  morals  pure 
And  withal  easy  temper.    But  alight  on 
A  gadding,  gossiping,  expensive  jade, 
And  heaven  deliver  thee!     Tis  not  a  wife 
Thou  weddest,  but  an  everlasting  plague, 
A  devil  in  she's  clothing.     There  is  not 
In  the  habitable  globe  so  dire  a  torment; 
I  know  it  to  my  cost : — the  better  luck 
Is  his  who  never  tried  it. 


Epicharmus,  in  the  comedy  of  l  The  Statesmen,'  introduces  the  fol- 
lowing retort  from  a  man  of  low  birth  to  a  prattling  old  woman,  who  is 
vaporing  about  her  ancestry : 


GENEALOGIES. 

Good  gossip,  if  you  love  me,  prate  no  more : 

What  are  your  genealogies  to  me? 

Away  to  those  who  have  more  need  of  them! 

Let  the  degenerate  wretches,  if  they  can, 

Dig  up  dead  honor  from  their  father's  tombs, 

And  boast  it  for  their  own — vain,  empty  boast ! 

When  every  common  fellow  that  they  meet, 

If  accident  hath  not  cut  off  the  scroll, 

Can  show  a  list  of  ancestry  as  long. 

You  call  the  Scythians  barbarous,  and  despise  them; 

Yet  Anacharsis  was  a  Scythian  born; 

And  every  man  of  a  like  noble  nature, 

Though  he  were  moulded  from  an  JEthiop's  loins, 

Is  nobler  than  your  pedigrees  can  make  him. 

The  following  maxims  indicate  the  Pythagorean  philosopher,  and,  per« 
haps,  the  instructor  of  youth — a  profession  in  which  Epicharmus  is  sup 
posed  to  have  passed  many  years  of  his  life  : 


MORAL  MAXIMS. 
Be  sober  in  thought  1  be  slow  in  belief  1    These  are  the  sinews  of  wisdom. 

It  is  the  part  of  a  wise  man  to  foresee  what  ought  to  be  done,  so  shall  he  not 
repent  of  what  is  done. 

Throw  not  away  thine  anger  upon  trifles !     Reason  and  not  rage  should  govern. 


540A.C.]  PHORMIS.  333 

Mankind  are  more  indebted  to  industry  than  to  ingenuity :  the  gods  set  up 
their  favors  at  a  price,  and  industry  is  the  purchaser. 

A  man  without  merit  shall  live  without  envy ;  but  who  would  wish  to  escape 
on  these  terms. 

Live  so  as  to  hold  yourself  prepared  either  for  a  long  life  or  for  a  short  one. 

Phormis,  another  Dorian  comic  poet  of  Sicily,  was  a  native  of  Maena- 
lus,  in  Arcadia ;  but  having  early  removed  to  Sicily,  he  soon  became  inti- 
mate with  Gelon,  by  whom  he  was  liberally  patronized,  and  whose  chil- 
dren he  educated.  As  a  soldier  also,  Phormis  is  represented  to  have 
distinguished  himself,  under  both  G-elon  and  Hiero ;  and  that  he  prided 
himself  on  his  military  achievements  is  evident  from  the  statement  of 
Pausanias.  who  informs  us  that,  in  gratitude  for  his  martial  successes,  he 
dedicated  gifts  to  Zeus  at  Olympia,  and  to  Apollo  at  Delphi.  According 
to  the  same  authority,  Lycortas,  a  weal  thy  inhabitant  of  Syracuse,  through 
admiration  of  Phormis'  bravery,  dedicated  a  splendid  statue  to  his 
memory,  representing  him  in  the  heat  of  battle. 

The  dramatic  success  of  Epicharmus,  finally  induced  Phormis  to  turn 
his  attention  also,  to  the  writing  of  comedies ;  and  his  brilliant  success, 
like  that  of  jEschylus  in  the  department  of  tragedy,  seems  to  favor  the* 
idea,  that  early  martial  habits  contribute  to  develop  dramatic  genius. 
Suidas  has  preserved  the  names  of  eight  comedies  written  by  Phormis ; 
and  he  also  informs  us  that  he  was  the  first  to  introduce  actors  with 
robes  reaching  to  the  ankles,  and  to  ornament  the  stage  with  skins  died 
purple — as  drapery,  it  may  be  presumed.  From  the  titles  of  his  plays,  it 
is  evident  that  his  subjects  were  similar  to  those  of  Epicharmus  ;  but  un- 
fortunately not  a  fragment  of  his  poetry  has  been  preserved. 

Dinolochus,  according  to  some  authorities,  the  son,  and  to  others,  the 
pupil,  of  Epicharmus,  was  the  last  of  the  Doric  comic  writers  of  this 
period.  He  is  variously  represented  as  a  native  of  Agrigentum  and  of 
Syracuse,  and  is  said  to  have  written  fourteen  comedies ;  the  titles  only 
of  a  few  of  which,  however,  have  been  preserved.  From  all  that  we  can 
learn  his  dramas  have  a  striking  similarity  to  those  of  Phormis,  though 
some  of  them  were,  perhaps,  more  characteristic. 

While  Epicharmus,  Phormis,  and  Dinolochus  were  thus  giving  form, 
stability,  and  poetic  character  to  the  Dorian  comic  drama  of  Sicily,  three 
comic  poets  of  Athens,  Cratinus,  Eupolis,  and  Aristophanes,  commenced, 
in  regular  succession,  in  their  native  city,  a  dramatic  career  which 
eventuated  in  carrying  the  Attic  comedy  to  the  height  of  perfection.  The 
largest  liberty  was  now  fully  enjoyed  in  Athens,  and  to  their  acrimonious 
muse  these  satiric  poets,  therefore,  sat  no  bounds.  The  Old  Comedy,  as 
it  is  technically  called,  now  assumed  a  fixed  and  determinate  character. 


334  ATTIC    COMEDY.  [LECT  XIII. 

Of  this  first  school  of  Attic  comedy  the  characteristic  feature  is  per- 
sonality ;  and,  in  order  to  form  a  correct  estimate  of  its  nature,  it  is 
necessary  to  divest  the  mind  of  all  ideas  which  it  has  derived  from 
comedies  of  modern  times.  The  tragic  principle  is  the  same  in  all  ages ; 
and  hence  between  ancient  and  modern  tragedy  there  are  many  points  of 
resemblance ;  but  the  old  Attic  comedy  is  totally  unlike  its  modern 
namesake.  It  is  quite  sui  generis — there  is  nothing  with  which  it  can 
be  compared.  In  its  loose  and  unconnected  structure,  the  incompleteness 
and  want  of  uniformity  in  its  plot,  it  somewhat  resembles  a  modern  panto- 
mime. Like  pantomime,  it  consists  of  numerous  independent  scenes  and 
ludicrous  situations,  satirical  attacks  on  the  vices,  and  sparkling  allusions 
to  the  prevalent  follies  of  the  day ;  and  much  of  the  humor  consists  in 
practical  jokes,  as  well  as  in  the  smartness  of  the  dialogue  and  repartee. 
It  also  indulged  in  the  most  unrestrained  personalities.  Real  personages 
were  exhibited  on  the  stage,  and  the  shafts  of  the  poet's  ridicule  were 
fearlessly  directed  against  them.  These  gross  attacks  were  not  confined 
to  public  characters  only,  who  might  be  considered  fair  marks  for  cen- 
sure as  well  as  praise,  but  the  secrets  of  domestic  life  were  laid  open,  its 
sanctity  violated,  the  faults  of  private  characters  held  up  to  odium  or 
ridicule,  and  even  virtuous  and  patriotic  conduct  sometimes  misrepre- 
Rented. 

From  the  virulence  of  these  comic  poets  nothing  was  safe.  The  most 
serious  business  of  life  was  caricatured — the  most  time-honored  political  in- 
stitutions unsparingly  criticised — the  whole  public  administration,  educa- 
tional, legal,  financial,  and  executive,  remorselessly  attacked.  Besides  this, 
the  poet  assumed  to  himself  the  functions  of  a  literary  censor  :  he  aspired 
to  lead  the  public  taste,  and  direct  the  critical  judgment  of  the  Athenian 
people  on  all  literary  and  philosophical  questions.  But  all  this  abuse 
and  slander,  and  caricature  and  criticism,  was  conveyed  in  the  most 
exquisite  and  polished  style  :  it  was  recommended  by  all  the  refinements 
of  taste  and  the  graces  of  poetry.  It  was  in  consequence  of  this  exquisite 
elegance  and  purity,  which  distinguished  the  style  of  the  Attic  comic 
writing,  as  well  as  its  energetic  power,  that  Quintilian  recommends  an 
orator  to  study,  as  the  best  models  next  to  Homer,  the  writings  of  the 
old  Attic  comedy. 

That  this  comedy  abounded  in  grossness  and  obscenity,  such  as  would 
not  be  tolerated  in  dramatic  exhibitions  of  the  present  day,  cannot  be 
doubted.  But  an  age  in  which  man  was  not  softened  by  the  influence  of 
good  female  society,  the  virtuous  of  the  female  sex  were  not  educated 
so  as  to  fit  them  for  being  companions  of  the  men,  whilst  the  vicious 
applied  themselves  to  the  task  of  making  the  leisure  hours  of  the  male 
sex  pass  agreeably,  by  all  the  accomplishments  and  elegances  of  a  finished 
education,  was  necessarily  a  gross  one.  The  comic  poet,  therefore,  was 
not,  as  has  often  been  alleged,  the  corrupter  of  his  countrymen ;  for  the 


619  A.C.]  CRATINUS.  335 

most  that  can  be  said  against  him  is,  that,  with  all  his  taste,  and  talent, 
and  education,  he  was  not  in  advance  of  his  age  in  this  point — that  he 
did  not  stem  the  tide  of  corruption — that  he  pandered  to  a  degraded 
popular  taste,  instead  of  using  his  best  efforts  to  mould  it  to  a  higher 
standard. 

The  old  comedy  was  to  the  Athenians  the  representative  of  many  in- 
fluences which  exist  in  the  present  day.  It  was  the  newspaper — the 
review — the  satire — the  pamphlet — the  caricature — the  pantomime  of 
Athens.  Addressed  to  the  thousands  who  flocked  to  the  theatre,  to  wit- 
ness the  representation  of  a  new  comedy,  most  of  whom  were  keenly 
alive  to  every  witty  allusion  and  stroke  of  satire,  and  who  took  a  deep 
interest  in  everything  of  a  public  nature,  because  each  individual  was 
personally  engaged  in  the  administration  of  State  affairs,  the  old  comedy 
must  have  been  a  powerful  engine  for  good  or  for  evil.  There  can  be 
little  doubt  that,  scurrilous  and  immoral  as  it  often  was,  the  good,  never 
theless,  predominated.  Gross  and  depraved  as  the  Athenians  were 
already,  notwithstanding  their  refinement,  it  is  not  likely  that  comedy 
corrupted  their  morals  in  this  respect.  The  vices  which  prevailed  would 
have  existed  without  it,  and  were  neither  increased  nor  fostered  by  it. 

The  comic  poets  were,  however,  generally  in  favor  of  that  which  was 
pure  in  taste,  sound  and  thorough  in  education,  and  honest  and  elevated 
in  politics.  Fostered  as  the  free  satire  of  comedy  was  by  the  unbounded 
license  of  a  democracy,  and  owing  its  vigor,  as  well  as  its  existence,  to 
the  patronage  of  a  sovereign  people,  it  neither  spared  the  vices  nor  flat- 
tered the  follies  of  its  patrons.  Like  those  of  the  court  fool  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  its  most  biting  jests  were  received  with  good  humor,  and 
welcomed  as  acceptable  by  its  supporters,  although  they  themselves  were 
the  objects  of  them.  But  notwithstanding  the  favor  with  which  it  was 
viewed  by  the  people,  its  extreme  personality  eventually  provoked  the 
interference  of  the  law.  To  this  subject,  however,  our  attention  will  be 
more  particularly  directed  when  we  come  to  consider  the  Attic  comedy  of 
the  Middle  School. 

Cratinus  was  the  son  of  Callimedes,  and  was  born  in  Athens  519  A.C. 
Of  his  personal  history  very  little  is  known.  He  did  not  commence 
writing  comedies  untfl  he  had  passed  the  sixty-fifth  year  of  his  age,  after 
which  he  produced  wenty-one,  and  gained  nine  prizes.  He  lived  to  ex- 
treme old  age,  though,  according  to  the  loose  morals  of  the  Greeks,  his 
passions  were  without  restraint.  He  carried  his  love  of  wine  to  such  ex- 
cess, that  he  obtained  the  name  of  *  Philpot,'  launching  out  in  praise  of 
drinking,  and  rallying  all  sobriety  out  of  countenance — asserting  that  no 
poet  can  be  good  for  anything  who  does  not  love  his  bottle ;  and  that 
dramatic  poets  in  particular  ought  to  drink  freely  in  honor  of  Bacchus, 
for  his  peculiar  patronage  and  protection  of  the  stage.  Horace,  who 


336  CRATINUS.  '    [LECT.  XIII. 

was  a  thorough  believer  in  the  poetical  inspiration  of  wine,  supports 
his  opinion  by  the  authority  of  Oratinus  in  the  following  address  to 
Maecenas : 

O  learned  Maecenas,  hear  Cratinus  speak, 
And  take  this  maxim  from  the  gay  old  Greek ; 
No  verse  shall  please  or  lasting  honors  gain, 
Which  coldly  flows  from  water-drinker's  brain. 

The  love  of  wine  seems,  indeed,  to  have  occupied  the  place  of  merit 
among  the  Greeks ;  but  Cratinus'  excess  was  attended,  in  his  old  age, 
with  some  marks  of  weakness  and  want  of  retention,  incidental  to  an  ex- 
hausted constitution.  Of  this  Aristophanes,  who  was  a  younger  man, 
though  not  much  more  abstemious,  availed  himself,  and,  accordingly, 
brought  his  old  competitor  on  the  stage,  and  held  him  up  to  ridicule  for 
this  infirmity.  The  charge  was  unmanly,  and  roused  the  aged  veteran  to 
return  the  attack.  Cratinus  at  that  time,  through  the  infirmities  of  age, 
had  left  off  writing,  but  he  was  not  superannuated ;  and  he,  accordingly, 
not  only  resumed  his  pen,  but  lived  to  complete  and  bring  out  a  comedy, 
which  he  appropriately  called  The  Flagon. 

In  the  plot  of  this  piece  the  poet  feigns  himself  married  to  comedy, 
whom  he  personifies,  and  represents  the  lady  in  disgust  with  her  husband, 
for  his  unconjugal  neglect.  With  this  she  distinctly  charges  him,  and 
then  openly  sues  for  a  divorce.  Upon  this  hearing,  certain  friends  and 
advocates  are  introduced  in  the  scene  in  behalf  of  the  party  accused,  who 
make  suit  to  the  dame  to  stay  her  proceedings,  and  not  to  be  over-hasty 
in  throwing  off  an  old  spouse ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  recommend  to  her  to 
enter  calmly  into  an  amicable  discussion  of  her  grievances.  To  this  pro- 
posal she  at  length  accedes,  and  this  gives  occasion  to  take  up  the  charge 
of  Aristophanes,  accusing  the  old  bard  of  drunkenness  and  the  concomi- 
tant circumstances,  which  had  been  published  with  so  much  ill  nature  to 
make  him  ridiculous  at  the  end  of  life.  Then  follows  a  very  pleasant  re- 
futation of  all  these  libels,  by  which  he  contrives  to  turn  the  laugh  against 
Aristophanes,  and  so  concludes  the  comedy. 

It  affords  us  great  satisfaction,  even  at  this  distant  period  of  time,  to 
know  that  Cratinus  bore  away  the  prize  with  this  very  comedy  from  both 
Aristophanes  and  Crates,  and  soon  after  expired  in  the  arms  of  victory, 
in  the  ninety-eighth  year  of  his  age,  and  422  A.C.  The  Athenians  erected 
a  monument  to  his  memory,  the  epitaph  upon  whidP  omitted  all  mention 
of  his  fine  talents,  and  recorded  nothing  but  his  drunkenness.  Thus,  as 
he  spared  no  man  when  living,  even  death  itself  would  not  protect  him 
from  retaliation. 

Cratinus  was  emphatically  the  poet  of  the  old  comedy.  He  gave  it  its 
peculiar  character,  and  he  did  not,  like  Aristophanes,  live  to  see  its  decline. 
Before  his  time  the  comic  poets  had  aimed  at  little  beyond  exciting  the 
laughter  of  their  audience  ;  but  he  made  comedy  a  terrible  weapon  of  per- 


519  A.C.]  CRATINUS.  33*7 

sonal  attack,  and  the  comic  poet  a  severe  censor  of  public  and  private 
vice.  An  anonymous  ancient  writer  says,  that  to  the  pleasing  in  comedy 
Cratinus  added  the  useful,  by  accusing  evil- doers  and  punishing  them 
with  comedy  as  with  a  public  scourge.  He  did  not  even  unite  mirth  with 
his  satire ;  but,  according  to  his  contemporaries,  he  hurled  his  reproaches 
in  the  plainest  form  at  the  bare  heads  of  the  offenders.  Pericles  was  the 
object  of  his  most  persevering  and  vehement  abuse ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  upon  Cimon  he  bestowed  the  highest  praise,  which  shows  that  he 
was  as  discriminating  as  he  was  bold. 

Of  the  writings  of  this  eminent  ancient  poet,  once  so  great  a  favorite, 
scarcely  a  fragment  is  now  to  be  found  sufficiently  perfect  to  merit  a 
translation.  One  little  spark  of  his  genius,  however,  will  be  seen  in  the 
following  epigrammatic  turn  of  thought  upon  the  loss  of  a  statue  which, 
as  the  workmanship  of  Daedalus,  he  supposes  to  have  made  use  of  its 
privilege,  and  escaped  from  its  pedestal : 

My  statue's  gone  !     By  Daedalus  'twas  made ; 
It  is  not  stolen  therefore ;   it  has  stray'd. 

Suidas  says  Cratinus  was  '  splendid  and  bright  in  all  his  characters.' 
His  style  was  full  of  spirit  and  energy,  his  language  highly  figurative,  his 
metre  so  bold  and  grand,  especially  in  the  lyrical  portion,  as  to  have  been 
considered  equal  to  those  of  the  tragedians,  even  of  ^Jschylus  himself.  His 
great  rival  Aristophanes  was  fully  aware  of  his  fervid  imagination,  and  of 
his  impetuous  and  torrent-like  eloquence.  In  the  same  passage  in  which  he 
describes  his  desertion  by  his  fickle  and  ungrateful  admirers,  he  speaks 
of  the  high  place  which  he  ought  to  occupy  in  the  public  estimation,  al- 
though he  could  not  refrain  from  indulging  his  love  of  humor  and 
satire  : 

Who  Cratinus  may  forget,  or  the  storm  of  whim  and  wit 

Which  shook  theatres  under  his  guiding  ? 
When  Panegyric's  song  poured  her  flood  of  praise  along 

Who  but  he  on  the  top  wave  was  riding? 
Foe  nor  rival  might  he  meet,  plane  and  oak  ta'en  by  the  feet, 

Did  him  instant  and  humble  prostration; 
For  his  step  was  as  the  tread  of  a  flood  that  leaves  its  bed, 

And  his  march  it  was  rude  desolation. 

****** 
Thus  in  glory  was  he  seen  while  his  years  as  yet  were  green ; 

But  now  that  his  dotage  is  on  him, 
God  help  him!   for  no  eye  of  all  those  that  pass  him  by 

Throws  a  look  of  compassion  upon  him. 
'Tis  a  couch,  but  witli  the  loss  of  its  garnish  and  its  gloss ; 

Tis  a  harp  that  hath  lost  all  its  crowning; 
'Tis  a  pipe  where  deftest  hand  may  the  stops  no  more  command, 

Nor  on  its  divisions  be  running. 

*«***• 

22 


338  EUPOLIS.  [LKOT.  XIII. 

Oh,  if  ever  yet  a  bard  waited,  page-like  high  reward, 

Former  exploits  and  just  reputation, 
By  an  emphasis  of  right,  some  had  earned  this  noble  wight, 

In  the  hall  a  most  constant  potation  ; 
And  in  theatre's  high  station  there  a  mark  for  admiration 

To  anchor  her  aspect  and  face  on ; 
In  his  honor  he  should  sit,  nor  serve  trifles  in  the  pit 

As  an  object  their  rude  jests  to  pass  on. 

Eupolis  became  a  very  popular  comic  writer  some  years  before  the 
death  of  Cratinus.  The  bold  strong  spirit  of  his  satire  recommended 
him  to  the  public  more  than  the  beauties  and  graces  of  his  style,  which 
he  was  not  studious  to  polish.  He  attacked  the  most  obnoxious  and 
profligate  characters  in  Athens,  without  any  regard  to  his  personal 
safety :  to  expose  the  cheat,  and  ridicule  the  imposter,  was  the  glory  of 
his  muse ;  and  neither  the  terrors  of  the  magistracy,  nor  the  mysteries  of 
superstition,  could  divert  him  from  his  course. 

Eupolis  was  the  son  of  Sosipolis,  and  was  born  in  Athens  446  A.C. 
He  devoted  himself  to  the  drama  from  his  youth,  and  his  first  comedy 
was  exhibited  429  A.C.,  when  he  had  but  just  attained  the  seventeenth 
year  of  his  age.  The  date  of  his  death  cannot  be  so  certainly  ascertained. 
The  common  story  was  that  Alcibiades,  when  sailing  to  Sicily,  threw  him 
into  the  sea,  in  revenge  for  an  attack  which  Eupolis  had  made  upon  him 
in  his  Baptse.  But,  to  say  nothing  of  the  improbability  of  even  Alcibia- 
des venturing  on  such  an  outrage,  or  the  still  stranger  fact  of  its  not 
being  alluded  to  by  Thucydides  or  any  other  trustworthy  historian,  the 
answer  of  Cicero  is  conclusive,  that  Eratosthenes  mentioned  plays  pro- 
duced by  Eupolis  after  the  Sicilian  expedition  took  place.  The  only  dis- 
coverable foundation  for  this  story,  and  probably  the  true  account  of  the 
poet's  death,  is  the  statement  of  Suidas,  that  he  perished  at  the  Helles- 
pont in  the  war  against  the  Lacedaemonians,  which  must  necessarily  refer 
either  to  the  battle  of  Cynossema,  411  A.O.,  or  to  that  of  ^Egospotami, 
405  A.C.  That  he  died  in  the  former  battle  is  not  improbable,  since  we 
never  hear  of  his  exhibiting  after  412  A.C.;  and  if  so  it  is  very  likely 
that  the  enemies  of  Alcibiades  might  charge  him  with  taking  advantage 
of  the  confusion  of  the  battle  to  gratify  his  revenge.  There  are,  how- 
ever, other  accounts  of  the  poet's  death,  which  are  altogether  different. 
^Elian  relates  that  he  died  and  was  buried  in  j33gina;  and  Pausanias 
says,  that  he  saw  his  tomb  in  the  territory  of  Sicyon.  Of  the  personal 
history  of  Eupolis  nothing  farther  is  known. 

Eupolis,  according  to  Suidas,  was  the  author  of  seventeen  comedies, 
the  principal  of  which  were,  Tlw  Baptce,  The  Flatterers,  The  Lacedcemo- 
nians,  Tlw  Marica,  The  People,  and  the  first  and  second  Autolycus. 
From  the  severity  with  which  Alcibiades  and  other  prominent  leaders 


446  A.C.]  EUPOLIS.  339 

were  attacked  in  '  The  Baptse,'  originated  the  story  of  Eupolis'  having 
been  drowned,  as  already  related.  In  '  The  People,'  by  the  fiction  of  the 
scene  he  raises  the  shades  of  their  departed  orators  and  demagogues  from 
the  dead ;  and  when  Pericles,  last  of  the  troop,  arises,  the  poet  demands, 
( Who  is  it  that  appears  ?'  The  question  being  answered,  and  the  spirit 
of  Pericles  dismissed,  he  pronounces  his  encomium — '  That  he  was  pre- 
eminent as  an  orator,  for  man  never  spoke  as  he  spoke :  when  he  started 
like  a  courser  in  the  race,  he  threw  all  competitors  out  of  sight,  so  rapid 
was  the  torrent  of  his  eloquence ;  but  with  that  rapidity  there  flowed 
such  a  sweetness  and  persuasion  from  his  lips,  that  he  alone  of  all  ora- 
tors, struck  a  sting  into  the  very  souls  of  his  hearers,  and  left  it  there  to 
remain  forever.'  In  his  '  Lacedaemonians,'  on  the  contrary,  he  attacks 
both  the  public  and  private  character  of  Cimon,  charging  him  with  im- 
proper partiality  for  the  Lacedaemonians,  with  drunkenness,  and  with 
many  other  vices  of  the  most  debasing  kind.  Plutarch  takes  notice  of 
this  attack,  and  says  it  had  a  great  effect  in  stirring  up  the  populace 
against  this  celebrated  commander.  This,  however,  must  be  a  mistake, 
for  Cimon  died  a  number  of  years  before  Eupolis  commenced  his  dram- 
atic career.  The  l  Maricas '  was  written  against  the  orator  Hyperbolus, 
whom  Thucydides  mentioned  to  have  been  banished  by  ostracism. 

Of  the  following  poetic  fragments,  the  first  is  from  l  The  People,'  and 
the  other  from  '  The  Flatterers' : 


ALTERED   CONDITION  OF   ATHENS. 

• 

It  grieves  me  to  behold  the  commonwealth — 
Things  were  not  thus  administered  of  old  ; 
Then  men  of  sense  and  virtue, — men,  whose  merits 
Gave  them  consideration  in  the  State, — 
Held  the  first  offices :    to  such  we  bowed 
As  to  the  gods — and  gods,  indeed,  they  were — 
For  under  their  wise  counsels  we  enjoyed 
Security  and  peace — But  now,  alas! 
We  have  no  other  guide  in  our  elections 
Save  chance,  blind  chance,  and  on  whatever  head 
It  falls,  though  worst  and  meanest  of  mankind, 
Up  starts  he  a  great  man,  and  is  at  once 
Install'd  prime  Rogue  and  Minister  of  State. 

The  lines  which  follow,  from  '  The  Flatterers,'  is  a  part  of  the  speech 
of  a  parasite,  and  enumerates  a  few  of  the  arts  by  which  he  gulls  the  rich 
boobies  that  fall  in  his  way  : 

THE  PARASITE. 

Mark  now,  and  learn  of  me  the  thriving  art, 
By  which  we  parasites  contrive  to  live: 


340  ETJPOLIS.  [LECT.XIIL 

Fine  rogues  we  are,  my  friend  (of  that  be  sure), 

And  daintily  we  gull  mankind. — Observe! 

First  I  provide  myself  a  nimble  thing 

To  be  my  page,  a  varlet  of  all  crafts ; 

Next  two  new  suits  for  feasts  and  gala  days, 

Which  I  promote  by  turns,  when  I  walk  forth 

To  sun  myself  upon  the  public  square: 

There,  if  perchance  I  spy  some  rich,  dull  knave, 

Straight  I  accost  him,  do  him  reverence, 

And,  sauntering  up  and  down  with  idle  chat, 

Hold  him  awhile  in  play;  at  every  word, 

Which  his  wise  worship  utters,  I  stop  short 

And  bless  myself  for  wonder ;  if  he  ventures 

On  some  vile  joke,  I  blow  it  to  the  skies, 

And  hold  my  sides  for  laughter.     Then  to  supper 

With  others,  with  our  brotherhood,  to  mess 

In  some  night-cellar  on  our  barley  cakes, 

And  club  inventions  for  the  next  day's  shift. 

The  chief  characteristics  of  the  poetry  of  Eupolis  seem  to  have  been 
the  liveliness  of  his  fancy,  and  the  power  which  he  possessed  of  imparting 
its  images  to  the  audience.  This  characteristic  of  his  genius  influenced 
his  choice  of  his  subjects,  as  well  as  his  mode  of  treating  them,  so  that 
he  not  only  appears  to  have  chosen  subjects  which  other  poets  might 
have  despaired  of  dramatizing,  but  we  are  expressly  told  that  he  wrought 
into  the  body  of  his  plays  those  serious  political  views  which  other  poets 
expounded  in  their  parabases,  as  in  the  Baptse,  in  which  he  represented 
the  legislators  of  other  times  conferring  on  the  administration  of  the 
State.  To  do  this  in  a  genuine  Attic  old  comedy,  without  converting  the 
comedy  into  a  serious  philosophic  dialogue,  must  have  been  a  great 
triumph  of  dramatic  art.  The  introduction  of  deceased  persons  on  the 
stage  appears  to  have  given  to  the  plays  of  Eupolis  a  certain  dignity, 
which  would  have  been  inconsistent  with  the  comic  spirit,  had  it  not  been 
relieved  by  the  most  graceful  and  clever  merriment.  In  elegance,  though 
he  rarely  aimed  at  it,  he  is  said  to  have  been  capable  of  rivalling  even 
Aristophanes,  while  in  bitter  jesting  and  personal  abuse  he  emulated 
Cratinus.  Among  the  objects  of  his  satire,  as  we  have  already  seen,  was 
the  high-minded  Cimon ;  and  even  the  excellent  Socrates  did  not  escape 
the  shafts  of  his  satire.  Indeed,  innocence  seems  to  have  afforded  no 
shelter ;  for  he  attacked  Autolycus,  who  is  said  to  have  been  guilty  of 
no  crime,  and  is  only  known  as  having  been  distinguished  for  his  beauty, 
and  as  a  victor  in  the  pancratium,  as  vehemently  as  he  did  Callias,  Alci- 
biades,  Melanthius,  and  others  of  the  same  class.  But  such  was  the  Old 
Comedy. 

Reserving  the  life,  genius,  and  writings  of  Aristophanes  for  a  separate 
lecture,  we  shall  now  proceed  briefly  to  notice  Crates,  Plato,  Pherecrates, 


445  A.C.]  CRATES.  341 

and  Philonides,  all  of  whom  were  distingnished  comic  poets  of  the  old 
school,  and  contemporaries  of  Eupolis. 

1  Crates '  was  a  native  of  Athens,  but  of  his  family  nothing  is  now 
known.  He  commenced  his  connection  with  the  drama  as  an  actor,  per- 
sonated the  principal  characters  in  the  plays  of  Cratinus,  and  was  the 
great  rival  of  Callistratus  and  Philonides — Aristophanes'  two  most 
favorite  actors.  He  began  to  flourish  about  445  A.C.,  and  is  alluded  to 
by  Aristophanes  in  such  a  way  as  to  imply  that  he  was  dead  before  the 
Knights  was  acted — 424  A.C.  If  this  be  true,  he  died  two  years  before 
Cratinus.  With  respect  to  the  character  of  his  dramas,  there  is  a  passage 
in  the  fifth  book  of  Aristotle's  Poetics,  which  seems  to  convey  the  idea 
that,  instead  of  making  his  comedies  vehicles  of  personal  abuse,  he  chose 
such  subjects  as  admitted  of  a  more  general  mode  of  depicting  character. 
His  great  excellence  is  attested  by  Aristophanes,  and  by  the  few  frag- 
ments which  remain  of  his  plays.  He  excelled  chiefly  in  fun  and  mirth, 
which  he  carried  so  far  as  to  introduce  drunken  characters  on  the  stage — 
a  thing  which  Epicharmus  had  done,  but  which  had  never  before  been 
ventured  upon  by  an  Attic  comedian. 

According  to  the  authority  of  Suidas,  Crates  was  the  author  of  eight 
comedies,  all  of  which  were  remarkable  for  their  gaiety  and  facetious- 
ness.  In  the  few  fragments  that  still  remain  of  his  poetry,  his  language 
is  pure,  elegant,  and  simple,  with  rarely  a  peculiar  word  or  construction. 
Aristotle  ascribes  to  Crates  an  important  innovation  with  respect  to  the 
iambic  metre  of  the  old  comedy,  which,  by  adding  a  spondaic  ending  to 
the  anapaestic  tetrameter,  he  made  more  free  and  apposite  to  familiar 
dialogue.  Though,  according  to  the  voice  of  all  antiquity,  the  general 
character  of  the  dramas  of  Crates  was  gaiety  and  mirth,  yet  all  the  frag- 
ments that  we  now  possess  of  his  poetry,  are  remarkable  for  their  grave 
and  sententious  cast.  One  of  them  is  an  observation  on  the  effects  of 
poverty ;  another  is  a  short  stricture  on  the  gluttony  of  the  Thessalians ; 
a  third  is  a  remark  upon  the  indecorousness  of  inviting  women  to  wed- 
ding suppers,  and  making  riotous  entertainments  at  a  ceremony  which 
modesty  would  recommend  to  pass  in  private,  and  within  the  respective 
family  where  it  occurs.  The  last  fragment  is  the  following  touching  and 
beautiful  picture  of  old  age,  and  the  vanity  of  human  wishes  • 


ON  OLD  AGE. 

These  shrivel'd  sinews  and  this  bending  frame 
The  workmanship  of  Time's  strong  hand  proclaim, 
Skill'd  to  remove  whate'er  the  gods  create, 
And  make  that  crooked  which  they  fashion  straight. 
Hard  choice  for  man,  to  die — or  else  to  be 
That  tottering,  wretched,  wrinkled  thing  you  see. 


342  PLATO.  [LKCT.  XIIL 

Age  then  we  all  prefer;  for  age  we  pray, 
And  travel  on  to  life's  last  lingering  day ; 
Then  sinking  slowly  down  from  worse  to  worse, 
Find  heaven's  extorted  boon  our  greatest  curse 


Plato,  the  next  comic  poet  of  the  Old  School  to  be  noticed  was  also 
a  native  of  Athens,  and  flourished  from  428  A.C.,  the  year  in  which  he 
presented  his  first  comedy  to  the  public,  till  389  A.C.,  two  years  after 
the  death  of  the  historian  Thucydides.  Of  the  personal  history  of  Plato 
nothing  farther  is  known  except  the  story  told  by  Suidas,  that  he  was  so 
poor  as  to  be  obliged  to  write  comedies  for  other  persons.  Suidas  founds 
this  statement  on  a  passage  of  the  Pisander  of  Plato,  in  which  the  poet 
alludes  to  his  laboring  for  others  ;  but  the  story  of  his  poverty  is  plainly 
nothing  more  than  an  arbitrary  conjecture,  made  to  explain  the  passage, 
the  true  meaning  of  .which,  doubtless,  is,  that,  as  was  at  that  time 
no  unusual  case,  he  exhibited  some  of  his  plays  in  the  names  of  other 
persons,  but  was  naturally  anxious  to  claim  the  merit  of  them  for  him- 
self when  they  had  succeeded;  and  that  he  did  so  in  the  Parabasis  of  the 
Pisander,  as  Aristophanes  does  in  the  Parabasis  of  the  Clouds.  Arsenius 
entirely  confirms  this  interpretation. 

Plato  ranked  among  the  very  best  poets  of  the  Old  Comedy.  From 
the  notice  taken  of  him  by  the  grammarians,  and  from  the  large  num- 
ber of  fragments  of  his  poetry  preserved,  it  is  evident  that  his  plays 
were  only  second  in  popularity  to  those  of  Aristophanes.  Purity  of 
language,  refined  sharpness  of  wit,  and  a  combination  of  the  vigor  of  the 
Old,  with  the  greater  elegance  of  the  Middle  and  the  New  Comedy,  were 
his  chief  characteristics.  Though  many  of  his  plays  appear  to  have  had 
no  political  reference  at  all,  yet  it  is  evident  that  he  kept  up  to  the 
spirit  of  the  Old  Comedy  in  his  attacks  on  the  corruptions  and  corrupt 
persons  of  his  age  ;  for  he  is  charged  by  Dio  Chrysostom  with  vitupera- 
tion— a  curious  charge  truly,  to  bring  against  a  professed  satirist ! 
Among  the  chief  objects  of  his  attack  were  the  demagogues  Creon,  Hy- 
perbolus,  Cleophon,  the  general  Leagrus,  and  the  orators  Cephalus  and 
Archinus.  To  these  we  may  add  his  frequent  attacks  upon  his  great 
rival  Aristophanes ;  and,  indeed,  the  mutual  attacks  of  these  two  dis 
tinguished  poets  upon  each  other  must  be  regarded  as  a  striking  proof 
of  the  esteem  in  which  they  held  each  other's  talents. 

Plato  was  evidently  one  of  the  most  diligent  of  the  old  comic  poets. 
The  number  of  his  dramas,  according  to  Suidas,  was  twenty-eight,  though 
that  critic  enumerates  the  titles  of  thirty.  Of  these,  the  most  noted 
were,  the  Pisander,  already  mentioned,  the  Beard,  the  PhilosopJier^s 
Cloak,  the  Cleophon,  the  Phaon,  the  Perialges,  the  Hyperbolus,  the 
Presbeis,  and  the  Laius,  which  was,  perhaps,  the  latest  of  his  plays  ex- 


446  A.C.]  PLATO.  343 

hibited.  Of  the  fragments  which  remain  of  these  dramas,  we  select  the 
following,  and  much  regret  that  we  have  in  vain  attempted  to  ascertain 
the  particular  plays  to  which  they  belonged. 

The  following  address  to  a  statue  of  Mercury,  cut  by  Daedalus,  has  in 
it  much  epigrammatic  neatness  and  point.  The  poet  mistakes  the  statue 
for  a  living  figure  : 

Ho  there  !  who  art  thou  ?     Answer  me. — Art  dumb  ? 
'Warm  from  the  hand  of  Daedalus  I  come; 
My  name  Mereurius,  and,  as  you  may  prove, 
A  statue;   but  his  statues  speak  and  move.' 

The  following  lines  on  the  tomb  of  Themistocles  have  a  turn  of  elegant 
and  pathetic  simplicity  in  them,  worthy  of  the  exalted  subject : 


THE  TOMB  OF  THEMISTOCLES. 

By  the  sea's  margin,  on  the  watery  strand, 
Thy  monument,  Themistocles,  shall  stand. 
By  this  directed  to  thy  native  shore, 
The  merchant  shall  convey  his  freighted  store ; 
And  when  our  fleets  are  summon'd  to  the  fight, 
Athens  shall  conquer  with  thy  tomb  in  sight. 

The  following  fragment  of  a  dialogue  between  a  father  and  a  sophist, 
under  whose  tuition  he  had  placed  his  son,  probably  belonged  either  to 
the  comedy  of  the  Beard,  or  to  the  Philosoplier's  Cloak. 

Path.    Thou  hast  destroyed  the  morals  of  my  son, 
And  turn'd  his  mind,  not  so  disposed,  to  vice, 
Unholy  pedagogue !     With  morning  drams, 
A  filthy  custom  which  he  caught  from  thee, 
Clean  from  his  former  practice,  now  he  saps 
His  youthful  vigor.     It  is  thus  you  school  him. 

Soph.     And  if  I  did,  what  harms  him?     Why  complain  you! 
He  does  but  follow  what  the  wise  prescribe, 
The  great  voluptuous  law  of  Epicurus, 
Pleasure,  the  best  of  all  good  things  on  earth; 
And  how  but  thus  can  pleasure  be  obtain'd  ? 

Path.     Virtue  will  give  it  him. 

Soph.  And  what  but  virtue 

Is  our  philosophy  ?     When  have  you  met 
One  of  our  sect  flush'd  and  disguised  with  wine? 
Or  one,  but  one  of  those  you  tax  so  roundly, 
On  whom  to  fix  a  fault? 

Path.  Not  one,  but  all. 

All  who  march  forth  with  supercilious  brow, 
High  arch'd  with  pride,  beating  the  city  rounds 
Like  constables  in  quest  Oi?  rogues  and  outlaws, 


344  PHERECRATES.  [LECT.  XIJI. 

To  find  that  prodigy  in  human  nature, 

A  wise  and  perfect  man !     What  is  your  science 

But  kitchen  science  ?   wisely  to  descant 

Upon  the  choice  bits  of  a  savory  carp, 

And  prove  by  logic  that  his  summum  bonum 

Lies  in  his  head ;   there  you  can  lecture  well, 

And  whilst  your  gray  beards  wag,  the  gaping  guest 

Sits  wondering  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise. 

Pherecrates,  the  next  comic  poet  of  the  old  school  to  be  noticed,  was  a 
native  of  Athens,  and  a  contemporary  of  Plato  and  Aristophanes.  He 
presented  his  first  comedy  to  the  public  438  A.C.,  and  the  last  of  which 
we  have  any  knowledge  420  A.C. ;  so  that  he  flourished,  as  an  author, 
for  about  twenty  years. 

The  character  and  genius  of  Pherecrates  have  descended  to  us  with  the 
warmest  testimonials  of  high  authority.  His  style  was  of  that  peculiar 
character  which  has  been  proverbially  dignified  as  Most  Attic.  He 
acquired  such  reputation  by  his  comedies  and  other  poems,  that  the 
metre  he  used  was  called,  by  way  of  pre-eminence,  '  the  Pherecratian 
metre.'  He  was  no  less  excellent  in  his  private  than  in  his  poetical  char- 
acter, and  lived  on  the  most  intimate  terms  with  Plato  the  philosopher, 
and  other  Athenians  of  equal  eminence.  As  a  comic  writer  his  principal 
competitor  seems  to  have  been  Crates,  the  actor  and  author  of  whom  we 
have  already  spoken. 

According  to  Suidas,  Pherecrates  was  the  author  of  seventeen  comedies, 
the  titles  of  which  are  still  extant.  The  Peasants,  one  of  these,  is  men- 
tioned by  Plato  in  his  Protagoras ;  and  Clemens  of  Alexandria  quotes  a 
passage  from  his  Deserters,  of  great  elegance,  in  which  the  gods  are  in- 
troduced making  their  heavy  complaints  of  the  frauds  practiced  towards 
them  by  mankind,  in  their  sacrifices  and  oblations.  This  poet  also  has  a 
personal  stroke  at  the  immoral  character  of  Alcibiades. 

Having  introduced  a  passage  from  Crates,  the  rival  of  Pherecrates,  on 
old  age,  we  shall  now  present  one  from  the  latter  on  the  same  subject,  in 
order  to  show  how  these  celebrated  rivals  expressed  themselves  on  the 
same  sentiment : 

ON  OLD  AGE. 

Age  is  the  heaviest  burden  man  can  bear, 
Compound  of  disappointment,  pain,  and  care  1 
For  when  the  mind's  experience  comes  at  length, 
It  comes  to  mourn  the  body's  loss  of  strength. 
Resign'd  to  ignorance  all  our  better  days, 
Knowledge  just  ripens  when  the  man  decays ; 
One  ray  of  light  the  closing  eye  receives, 
And  wisdom  only  takes  what  folly  leaves. 


460  A.C.]  PHERECRATES.  345 

Pherecrates  entitled  one  of  his  comedies  The  Tyranny.  It  does  not, 
however,  appear  what  particular  object  he  had  in  view  under  this  title ; 
but  from  the  following  fragment,  he  seems  to  have  levelled  some  share  of 
his  satire  against  women  : 

Remark  how  wisely  ancient  art  provides, 

The  broad  brirnm'd  cup,  with  flat  expanded  sides: 

A  cup  contrived  for  man's  discreeter  use, 

And  sober  potions  of  the  generous  juice ; 

But  woman's  more  ambitious  thirsty  soul 

Soon  long'd  to  revel  in  the  plenteous  bowl; 

Deep  and  capacious  as  the  swelling  hold 

Of  some  stout  bark,  she  shaped  the  hollow  mould ; 

Then  turning  out  a  vessel  like  a  tun, 

Simpering  exclaim'd — Observe !   I  take  but  one ! 

Athenaeus  has  preserved  the  following  curious  and  valuable  fragment, 
from  The  Miners  of  this  author.  It  is  a  very  luxurious  description  of 
the  riches  and  abundance  of  some  former  times  to  which  he  alludes, 
strongly  dashed  with  comic  strokes  of  wild  extravagance  and  hyperbole. 
These  miners  were  probably  the  chorus  of  the  drama,  which,  doubtless, 
was  of  a  satirical  sort,  and  pointed  at  the  luxuries  of  the  rich.  By  the 
mention  made  of  Plutus  in  the  first  line,  we  may  suppose  that  these  mines 
were  of  gold,  and  probably  the  god  of  that  precious  metal  was  one  of  the 
persons  of  the  drama. 


FROM  THE  MINERS  OF  PHERECRATES. 

A.  The  days  of  Plutus  were  the  days  of  gold ; 
The  season  of  high  feeding  and  good  cheer: 
Rivers  of  goodly  beef  and  brewis  ran 

Boiling  and  bubbling  through  the  steaming  streets, 

With  islands  of  fat  dumplings,  cut  in  sops 

And  slippery  gobbets,  moulded  into  mouthfuls 

That  dead  men  might  have  swallowed;  floating  tripes 

And  fleets  of  sausages  in  luscious  morsels 

Stuck  to  the  banks  like  oysters ;  here  and  there, 

For  relishes  a  salt  fish,  seasoned  high 

Swam  down  the  savory  tide;  when  soon,  behold! 

The  portly  gammon,  sailing  in  full  state 

Upon  his  smoking  platter,  heaves  in  sight, 

Encompass'd  with  his  bandoliers  like  guards, 

And  convoy 'd  by  huge  bowls  of  frumenty, 

That  with  their  generous  odors  scent  the  air. 

B.  You  stagger  me  to  tell  of  those  good  days, 
And  yet  to  live  with  us  on  our  hard  fare, 
When  death's  a  deed  as  easy  as  to  drink. 

A.       If  your  mouth  waters  now,  what  had  it  done, 
Could  you  have  seen  our  delicate  fine  thrushes 
Hot  from  the  spit,  with  myrtle-berries  cramm'd, 


346  PHILONIDES.  [LECT.  XIIL 

And  larded  well  with  celandine  and  parsley, 
Bob  at  your  hungry  lips,  crying — Come,  eat  me! 
Nor  was  this  all;  for  pendant  over  head 
The  fairest,  choicest  fruits  in  clusters  hung; 
Girls  too,  young  girls,  just  budding  into  bloom, 
Clad  in  transparent  vests,  stood  near  at  hand, 
To  serve  us  with  fresh  roses  and  full  cups 
Of  rich  and  fragrant  wine,  of  which  one  glass 
No  sooner  was  dispatch'd,  than,  straight  behold 
Two  goblets,  fresh  and  sparkling  as  the  first, 
Provok'd  us  to  repeat  the  increasing  draught. 
Away  then  with  your  ploughs,  we  need  them  not, 
Your  scythes,  your  sickles,  and  your  pruning  hooks  I 
Away  with  all  your  trumpery  at  once ! 
Seed-time,  and  harvest  home  and  vintage  wakes — 
Your  holidays  are  nothing  worth  to  us. 
Our  rivers  roll  with  luxury,  our  vats 
O'erflow  with  nectar,  which  providing  Jove 
Showers  down  by  cataracts:    the  very  gutters 
From  our  house-tops  spout  wine,  vast  forests  wave 
Whose  very  leaves  drop  fatness,  smoking  viands 
like  mountains  rise.     All  nature  's  one  great  feast. 

Philonides  was  a  native  of  Athens,  but  is  better  known  as  one  of  the 
two  persons  in  whose  names  Aristophanes  brought  out  some  of  his  dramas, 
than  as  a  poet.  Before  he  became  a  dramatic  writer,  he  had  followed  the 
trade  of  a  fuller,  according  to  Suidas ;  but  according  to  Eudocia,  and 
which  is  more  probable,  he  was  a  painter.  Suidas  mentions  the  title  of 
three  of  his  plays,  one  of  which  was  aimed  at  Theramenes,  whose  party 
fickleness  rendered  him  a  fitting  object  of  attack  Aristophanes  represents 
him  as  a  very  silly,  vulgar  fellow,  and  illiterate  to  a  proverb ;  but  there 
must  evidently  have  been  more  satire  than  truth  in  this  representation, 
otherwise  the  great  poet  could  not  have  trusted  him  to  present  to  the 
public  such  comedies  as  The  Clouds,  The  Frogs,  and  others  of  equal 
importance. 

The  following  short  fragment  of  Philonides  is  all  that  we  can  find  of 
his  works ;  and  it  is  such  a  specimen  as  convinces  us  that  we  must  not 
always  take  the  character  of  a  poet  from  a  contemporary  wit,  engaged  in 
the  same  studies. 

FRAGMENT. 

Because  I  hold  the  laws  in  due  respect, 
And  fear  to  be  unjust,  am  I  a  coward  ? 
Meek  let  me  be  to  all  the  friends  of  truth, 
And  only  terrible  among  its  foes. 

A  brief  notice  of  the  remaining  comic  poets  of  the  Old  School,  but  of 
whom,  unfortunately,  we  have  not  even  any  fragmentary  remains,  will 


460  A.C.]  COMIC    POETS.  347 

close  our  present   remarks.     These  poets  are   Phrynichus,  Ameipsias, 
Amphis,  Hermippus,  Hipparchus,  and  Theopompus. 

Phrynichus  was  a  native  of  Athens,  and  the  son  of  Eunomides.  Ac- 
cording to  Suidas,  his  first  comedy  was  exhibited  435  A.C.,  but  of  the 
history  of  his  life  nothing  more  is  known;  for,  the  statement  of  an 
anonymous  ancient  writer,  that  he  died  in  Sicily,  refers,  in  all  probability, 
to  an  early  tragic  poet  of  the  same  name.  He  was  the  author  of  ten 
comedies,  of  which  the  following  were  the  titles  :  The  Ephialtes,  TJie 
Beard,  Saturn,,  The  Revellers,  The  Satyrs,  The  Tragedians,  The  Re- 
cluse, The  Muses,  The  Priest,  and  The  Weeding  Women.  We  have 
no  other  means  than  these  titles  to  enable  us  to  form  any  conjecture  of 
the  nature  of  the  comedies  themselves;  but  they  sufficiently  indicate  the 
subjects  his  satire  pointed  out  to  the  spectators,  in  which  the  philosophers, 
as  usual,  had  their  full  share. 

The  style  of  Phrynichus  was  remarkable  for  its  elegance  and  vigor ; 
and  his  genius,  if  we  can  depend  upon  the  opinions  of  the  ancient  gram- 
marians, placed  him  among  the  most  distinguished  poets  of  the  Old 
Comedy.  Aristophanes,  indeed,  charges  him  with  using  low  buffoonery, 
and  he  was  charged  by  the  comic  poet  Hermippus  with  corrupting  both 
language  and  metre,  and  with  plagiarism  ;  but  these  charges  are  probably 
to  be  regarded  rather  as  indications  of  the  height  to  which  the  rivalry  of 
the  comic  poets  was  carried,  than  as  the  statement  of  actual  truths. 
Phrynichus,  it  is  true,  invented  a  new  metre,  which  he  termed  the  Ionic 
a.  Minore  Catalectic  verse,  and  which  afterwards  bore  his  own  name  ; 
but  his  language,  according  to  the  celebrated  grammarian,  Didymus  of 
Alexandria,  was  terse  and  elegant,  though  he  sometimes  used  words  of 
peculiar  formation. 

Ameipsias  was  also  a  native  of  Athens,  and  was  a  comic  poet  of  such 
exalted  genius,  as  to  have  triumphed  in  the  contest  with  Aristophanes, 
when  the  latter  presented  for  the  trial  two  of  his  most  important  plays — 
'  The  Clouds,'  and  '  The  Birds.'  We  have  the  titles  of  ten  of  his  come- 
dies ;  and  though  in  some  of  them  the  satire  was  personal,  yet,  in  all,  it 
seems  to  have  been  levelled  against  the  reigning  vices  of  his  time,  rather 
than  against  particular  individuals.  In  The  Beard,  he  inveighed  against 
the  hypocrisy  and  affectation  of  the  priests  and  the  philosophers.  In 
The  Sapplw,  the  morals  of  many  of  the  prominent  women  of  Athens 
were  exposed  ;  and  in  TJie  Philosophers  Cloak,  he  is  understood  to  have 
glanced  pretty  severely  at  Socrates.  To  these  we  may  add  The  Game- 
sters, The  Glutton,  The  Adulterers,  and  The  Purse — names  which  suffi- 
ciently indicate  the  tone  of  the  comedies  founded  upon  them. 

Amphis,  the  son  of  Amphicrates,  was  another  Athenian  comic  poet  of 


348  COMIC    POETS.  [LECT.  XIII. 

great  celebrity.  We  have  the  titles  of  twenty-one  of  his  comedies,  and 
he  probably  wrote  many  more.  By  these  titles  it  appears  evident  that 
he  wrote  in  the  satirical  vein  of  the  Old  Comedy,  and  one  of  his  plays 
contained  a  personal  stroke  at  his  contemporary,  Plato  the  philosopher. 
One  of  his  plays,  entitled  The  Seven  Chiefs  against  Thebes,  was  probably 
a  parody  upon  jEschylus  ;  and  if  so,  this  proves  that  it  was  written  while 
the  personal  drama  was  suspended.  TJie  Dicers,  Tlie  Drunkards,  TJie 
Gamesters,  The  Courtezans,  The  Parasites,  and  other  plays  with  simi- 
lar titles,  were  aimed  at  the  prevailing  vices  which  they  named,  and  re- 
proved them  with  great  moral  severity.  Two  of  his  comedies  were 
entitled  Women's  Love  and  Women's  Tyranny,  and  their  purport  may 
be  easily  inferred. 

Hermippus  was  the  son  of  Lysis,  a  native  Athenian,  and  brother  of 
Myrtilus,  another  comic  poet,  of  whom,  however,  very  little  is  known. 
Hermippus  was  rather  older  than  Aristophanes,  though  his  precise  sera 
cannot  be  fixed.  His  personal  satire  seems  to  have  been  extremely  bit- 
ter, and  he  vehemently  attacked  Pericles  on  his  connection  with  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Peloponnesian  war.  He  also  exposes  his  dissolute  morals 
in  relation  to  Aspasia ;  and  in  one  of  his  plays  he  calls  him  King  of 
the  Satyrs,  advising  him  to  assume  the  proper  attributes  of  his  lascivious 
character.  According  to  Suidas,  he  was  the  author  of  forty  comedies, 
the  titles  of  only  nine  of  which  have,  however,  been  preserved. 

Hipparchus,  another  of  these  brilliant  contemporary  authors  of  the 
Old  Comedy,  was  a  native  of  Athens  ;  but  of  his  history  nothing  of  any 
importance  is  now  known.  Suidas  simply  remarks,  that  '  his  dramas 
were  about  marriages,'  but  gives  us  no  key  to  their  character,  farther 
than  to  enumerate  three  of  their  titles. 

Theopompus,  the  son  of  Theodectes,  is  represented  by  his  contempo- 
raries as  a  man  of-  excellent  moral  character ;  and  though  he  was  long 
afflicted  with  a  defluxion  in  his  eyes,  which  removed  him  from  his  studies, 
still  time  has  preserved  the  titles  of  twenty-four  of  his  comedies.  He 
was,  according  to  Suidas,  a  contemporary  of  Aristophanes ;  but  the  titles 
of  his  plays  give  evidence  that  he  wrote  during  the  latest  period  of  the 
Old  Comedy,  and  during  the  Middle  Comedy,  as  late  as  380  A.C.  Of 
his  personal  history  we  have  no  information,  except  a  story  of  a  fabulous 
appearance,  respecting  his  being  cured  of  the  defluxion  in  his  eyes,  by 
^Esculapius.  This  story  Suidas  copies  from  ^Elian,  with  a  description 
of  a  statuary  in  Parian  marble,  which  was  made  in  commemoration  of 
the  cure,  and  which  represented  Theopompus  lying  on  a  couch,  by  the 
side  of  which  the  god  stood,  handing  medicine  to  the  poet,  while  a  boy 
was  watching  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  couch.  Though  this  story  may 


444A.C.]  COMIC    POETS.  349 

have  no  foundation  in  truth,  yet  the  care  with  which  it  has  evidently- 
been  preserved,  goes  to  show  the  high  estimation  in  which  Theopompus 
was  held. 

Having,  in  our  present  remarks,  embraced  all  the  distinguished  poets 
of  the  Old  Comedy  excepting  Aristophanes,  we  shall,  in  the  next  lecture, 
fully  investigate  the  life,  genius,  and  writings  of  that  prince  of  the  comic 
school  to  which  he  belonged,  and  of  which  he  was,  incomparably,  the 
brightest  ornament. 


Kninn  tju 


ARISTOPHANES. 

THE  comedies  of  Aristophanes  are  universally  regarded  as  the  standard 
of  Attic  writing  in  its  greatest  purity.  If  we,  therefore,  wish  to  ob- 
tain a  knowledge  of  the  Greek  language,  as  it  was  spoken  by  Pericles,  we 
must  seek  it  in  the  scenes  of  this  distinguished  poet's  dramas.  Fortu- 
nately for  us,  that  while  the  gulf  of  time  has  completely  swallowed  up 
all  the  comic  dramas  of  his  contemporaries,  with  the  exception  of  a  few 
scattered  fragments,  it  has  spared  of  his  works  eleven  complete  plays. 
They  are,  therefore,  not  only  valuable  as  his  remains ;  but  when  we  con- 
sider them  as  the  only  remaining  specimens  of  the  Grtek  comedy,  their 
value  becomes  inestimably  greater.  We  receive  them  as  treasures  thrown 
up  from  a  wreck,  or  more  properly  as  one  passenger  escaped  out  of  a 
fleet,  whose  narrative  we  listen  to  with  the  more  eagerness  and  curiosity, 
because  it  is  from  this  alone  we  can  gain  intelligence  of  the  nature  of  the 
expedition,  the  quality  of  the  armament,  and  the  characters  and  talents 
of  the  commanders,  who  have  perished  and  gone  down  into  the  abyss  to- 
gether. 

The  genius  of  Aristophanes  was  vast,  versatile,  and  original ;  and  his 
knowledge  of  human  nature  surpassed  by  Homer  and  Shakspeare  alone. 
*.He  uniformly  varies  and  accommodates  his  style  to  his  subject,  and  to 
the  speakers  in  the  scene.  On  some  occasions  it  is  elevated,  grave,  sub- 
lime, and  polished  to  a  wonderful  degree  of  brilliancy  and  beauty ;  while 
on  others,  it  sinks  and  descends  into  humble  dialogue,  provincial  rusticity, 
coajse  obscenity,  and  even  puns  and  quibbles.  The  versatility  too,  of  his 
genius,  is  admirable ;  for,  in  his  varied  scenes  he  gives  us  every  rank  and 
condition  of  men,  and  in  every  one  he  is  strictly  characteristic.  In  some 
passages,  and  frequently  in  his  choruses,  he  soars  beyond  the  ordinary 
province  of  comedy,  into  the  loftiest  flights  of  poetry ;  and  in  these  he  is 
scarcely,  surpassed  by  either  j35schylus  or  Pindar.  In  sentiment  and 
good  sense  he  is  not  inferior  to  Euripides ;  and  in  the  acuteness  of  his 
criticisms  no  poet  of  antiquity  equalled  him. 


352  ARISTOPHANES.  [LECT.  XIV. 

In  the  general  tone  of  his  morals,  and  their  purport,  Aristophanes 
seldom,  if  ever,  fails ;  but  he  works  occasionally  with  unclean  tools,  and 
chastises  vice  by  an  open  exposure  of  its  turpitude — offending  the  ear, 
whilst  he  aims  to  mend  the  heart.  This  habit  of  plain  speaking,  it  must, 
however,  be  remembered  was  the  fashion  of  the  times  in  which  he  lived, 
and  the  audience  demanded  and  would  have  it ;  but  when  we  are  told 
that  he  was  the  pillow-companion  of  Chrysostom,  one  of  the  most  eminent 
of  the  early  Christian  saints,  the  conviction  is  irresistible,  that  he  may 
be  studied,  without  injury,  by  the  purest  minds.  It  may  also  be  re- 
marked that  much  of  the  indelicacy  of  his  muse,  is  attributable  to  the 
public  taste  of  the  age  ;  for  nothing  is  more  evident  than  that  a  dramatic 
poet  cannot  model  his  audience,  but,  to  a  certain  extent,  must  necessarily 
conform  to  their  humor  and  fancy.  Aristophanes  himself  often  lamented 
the  hard  task  imposed  upon  him  of  gratifying  the  public  at  the  expense 
of  decency ;  but  with  the  example  of  the  poet  Cratinus  before  him,  who 
was  driven  from  the  stage  because  he  scrupled  to  amuse  the  public  ear 
with  tawdry  jests,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  an  author,  emulous 
of  applause,  should  have  fallen  in  with  the  wishes  of  the  theatre,  unbe- 
coming as  they  were.  In  palliation  of  this  fault,  we  may  farther  remark, 
that  Aristophanes  always  confines  his  obscenity  to  the  mouths  of  obscene 
characters,  and  so  supplies  it  as  to  give  his  hearers  a  disgust  for  such  un- 
seemly habits.  We  are  free  to  confess  that  morality  deserves  a  purer 
vehicle  than  this  ;*  yet  his  purpose  was  evidently  honest,  and  no  doubt 
went  farther  towards  reforming  the  loose  Athenians,  than  all  the  inde- 
cisive positions  of  the  philosophers  of  the  period,  who,  being  divided  into 
sects  and  factions,  scarcely  agreed  in  any  one  common  moral  principle. 

The  wit  of  Aristophanes  is  of  various  kinds.  Much  of  it  is  local,  per- 
sonal, and  untransferable  to  posterity;  and  though  no  other  author  still 
retains  so  many  brilliant  passages,  yet  none  has  suffered  such  injury  by 
the  depredations  of  time.  Of  his  powers  in  ridicule  and  humor,  whether 
of  character  or  dialogue,  instances  innumerable  might  be  given ;  and  his 
satire,  whether  levelled  against  the  vices  and  follies  of  the  people  at 
large,  against  the  corruption  of  the  demagogues,  the  turpitude  and  chi- 
canery of  the  philosophers,  or  the  arrogant  self-sufficiency  of  the  tragic 
poets,  cuts  with  an  edge  that  penetrates  the  character,  and  leaves  no  shel- 
ter for  either  ignorance  or  criminality. 

Aristophanes  was  the  son  of  Philippus,  and  was  born  in  the  city  of 
Athens  about  444  A.C.  He  was  educated  with  much  care,  and  is  said 
to  have  been  a  pupil  of  Prodicus,  though  this  is  improbable,  as  he  speaks 
of  him  in  rather  contemptuous  terms.  He  devoted  himself  to  the  comic 
drama  from  his  youth,  and  presented  his  first  comedy  to  the  public  427 
A.C.,  when  he  had  scarcely  attained  the  seventeenth  year  of  his  age. 
From  this  period  until  his  death,  which  occurred  about  380  A.C.,  he  was 


444A.C.]  ARISTOPHANES.  353 

constantly  before  the  public  as  an  author,  and  was,  perhaps,  the  most 
popular  man  in  all  Athens.  Of  his  private  history  we  know  very  little, 
farther  than  that  he  was  a  lover  of  pleasure,  and  frequently  spent  whole 
nights  in  drinking  and  witty  conversation.  Accusations  more  than  one, 
says  an  anonymous  biographer,  were  brought  against  him  by  Cleon,  with 
a  view  to  deprive  him  of  his  civic  rights ;  but  as  they  were  merely  the 
fruits  of  revenge  for  the  attacks  of  the  poet  on  that  demagogue,  they  were 
always  unsuccessful.  They  have,  however,  given  rise  to  all  those  tradi- 
tions which  deprive  him  of  the  honor  of  Athenian  citizenship,  and  make 
him  a  native  of  Rhodes,  of  Egypt,  of  ^Egina,  of  Camirus,  or  of  Nau- 
cratis. 

The  comedies  of  Aristophanes  contain  an  admirable  series  of  carica- 
tures on  the  leading  men  of  the  day,  and  a  contemporary  commentary  on 
the  evils  existing  at  Athens.  In  this  view  they  are  of  the  highest  histor- 
ical interest.  Aristophanes  was  a  bold  and  often  a  wise  patriot.  He  had 
the  strongest  affection  for  Athens,  and  longed  to  see  her  restored  to  the 
state  in  which  she  was  nourishing  in  the  previous  generation,  and  almost 
in  his  own  childhood,  before  Pericles  became  the  head  of  the  government, 
and  when  the  age  of  Miltiades  and  Aristides  had  but  just  passed  away. 
The  first  great  evil  of  his  own  time  against  which  he  inveighs,  is  the  Pelo- 
ponnesian  war,  which  he  regards  as  the  work  of  Pericles,  and  even 
attributes  it  to  his  fear  of  punishment  for  having  connived  at  the  robbery 
said  to  have  been  committed  by  Phidias  on  the  statue  of  Athene  in  the 
Parthenon,  and  to  the  influence  of  Aspasia.  To  this  fatal  war,  among  a 
host  of  other  evils,  he  ascribes  the  influence  of  vulgar  demagogues  like 
Cleon  at  Athens,  of  which  also  the  example  was  set  by  the  more  refined 
demagogism  of  Pericles  himself. 

Another  great  object  of  the  indignation  of  Aristophanes  was  the  re- 
cently-adopted system  of  education  which  had  been  introduced  by  the 
Sophists,  acting  on  the  speculative  and  inquiring  turn  given  to  the  Athe- 
nian mind  by  the  Ionian  and  Eleatic  philosophers,  and  the  extraordinary 
intellectual  development  of  the  age  following  the  Persian  war.  The  new 
theories  introduced  by  the  Sophists  threatened  to  overthrow  the  founda- 
tions of  morality,  by  making  persuasion,  and  not  truth,  the  object  of  man 
in  his  intercourse  with  his  fellows,  and  to  substitute  a  universal  scepticism 
for  the  religious  creed  of  the  people.  The  worst  effects  of  such  a  system 
were  seen  in  Alcibiades,  who,  caring  ibr  nothing  but  his  own  ambftion, 
valuing  eloquence  only  for  its  worldly  advantages,  and  possessed  of  great 
talents  which  he  utterly  misapplied,  combined  all  the  elements  which 
Aristophanes  most  disliked,  heading  the  war  party  in  politics,  and  pro- 
tecting the  sophistical  school  in  philosophy  and  also  in  literature.  Of 
this  latter  school — the  literary  and  political  Sophists — Euripides  was  the 
chief,  whose  works  are  so  full  of  that  scepticism  which  contrasts  so  offeii- 
sively  with  the  moral  dignity  of  JEschylus  and  Sophocles,  and  for  which 

23 


354  ARISTOPHANES.  [LEOT.  XIV. 

Aristophanes  introduces  him  as  soaring  in  the  clouds  to  write  his  trage- 
dies, caricaturing  thereby  his  own  account  of  himself. 

Another  feature  of  the  times  was  the  excessive  love  of  litigation  at 
Athens,  the  consequent  importance  of  the  dicasts,  and  disgraceful  abuse 
of  their  power — all  of  which  enormities  are  made  by  Aristophanes  ob- 
jects of  continual  attack.  But  though  he  saw  with  a  keen  eye  what  were 
the  evils  of  his  time,  he  could  find  no  other  remedy  for  them  than  the 
hopeless  and  undesirable  one  of  a  movement  backwards ;  and,  therefore, 
though  we  allow  him  to  have  been  honest  and  bold,  he  did  not  possess 
that  political  sagacity  which  would  have  constituted  him  a  great  states- 
man. 

Aristophanes  was,  perhaps,  the  most  voluminous  writer  of  all  the  au- 
thors of  the  Old  Comedy.  The  number  of  his  dramas,  according  to 
Suidas,  was  fifty-four,  of  which  eighteen  titles  have  been  preserved,  and 
eleven  entire  plays.  T/ie  Banqueters,  the  first  of  his  comedies,  was  pro- 
duced 427  A.C.,  and  brought  upon  the  stage  by  Philonides,  Aristophanes 
not  having  yet  attained  the  legal  age  for  competing  for  a  prize.  The 
Babylonians  and  The  Acharniam  were  produced  in  the  two  following 
years — the  latter  being  brought  out  by  Callistratus.  In  424  A.C.  ap- 
peared The  Knights — the  first  play  produced  in  the  name  of  Aristophanes 
himself;  and  in  the  two  following  years  The  Clouds  and  The  Wasps. 
From  this  period  the  dates  of  Aristophanes'  plays  are  more  irregular, 
though  they  were  presented  to  the  public  in  the  following  order  : — Peace, 
Amphiaraus,  The  Birds,  Lysistrata,  Tliesmophoriazusce,  First  Plutus 
The  Frogs,  Ecclesiazusce,  and  the  Second  Plutus — the  last  being  repre- 
sented 38^  A.C.  The  two  last  comedies  of  Aristophanes  were  the 
JEolosicon  and  Cocalus,  and  were  produced  about  387  A.C.  by  Araros, 
one  of  his  sons. 

In  the  Banqueters  the  object  of  Aristophanes  was  to  contemn  generally 
the  abandonment  of  those  ancient  manners  and  feelings  which  it  was  the 
labor  of  his  life  to  restore.  He  attacked  the  modern  scheme  of  educa- 
tion by  introducing  a  father  with  two  sons,  one  of  whom  had  been  edu- 
^cated  according  to  the  old  system,  the  other  in  the  sophistries  of  later 
days.  The  chorus  consisted  of  a  party  who  had  been  feasting  in  the  tem- 
ple of  Hercules ;  and  Bishop  Thirl  wall  supposes,  that  as  the  play  was 
written  when  the  plague  was  at  its  height,  the  poet  recommended  a  return 
to  the  gymnastic  exercises  of  whicl^  that  god  was  the  patron,  and  to  the 
old  system  of  education,  as  the  means  most  likely  to  prevent  its  continu- 
ance. 

In  the  Babylonians,  we  are  told,  that  the  author  <  attacked  the  system 
of  appointing'  to  offices  by  lot.'  The  chorus  consisted  of  barbarian  slaves 
employed  in  a  mill,  which  Rankc  has  conjectured  was  represented *as 
belonging  to  the  demagogue  Eucrates,  who  united  the  trade  of  a  miller 


444A.C.]  ARISTOPHANES.  355 

with  that  of  a  vender  of  tow.  Cleon,  also,  must  have  been  a  main  object 
of  the  poet's  satire,  and  probably  the  public  functionaries  of  the  day  in 
general,  since  an  action  was  brought  by  Cleon  against  Callistratus,  in 
whose  name,  as  before  observed,  it  was  produced,  accusing  him  of  ridicul- 
ing the  government  in  the  presence  of  the  allies.  The  attack,  however, 
appears  to  have  been  entirely  unsuccessful. 

The  Acharnians  is  the  earliest  of  Aristophanes'  extant  dramas.  Com- 
pared with  most  of  his  other  plays  this  is  entirely  harmless.  Its  chief 
object  is  to  depict  the  earnest  longing  for  a  peaceful  country  life  on  the 
part  of  those  Athenians  who  took  no  pleasure  in  the  babbling  of  the  mar- 
ket-place, and  had  been  driven  into  the  city  against  their  will  by  the  mil- 
itary plans  of  Pericles.  Occasional  lashes  were  administered  to  the 
demagogues,  who,  like  Cleon,  had  inflamed  the  martial  propensities  of 
the  people,  and  to  the  generals,  .who,  like  Lamachus,  had  shown  for  too 
great  a  love  for  the  war.  We  have  also  in  this  play  an  early  specimen 
of  Aristophanes'  literary  criticism,  directed  against  Euripides,  whose 
over-wrought  attempts  to  move  the  feelings,  and  the  vulgar  shrewdness 
with  which  he  had  invested  the  old  heroes,  were  highly  offensive  to  our 
poet. 

In  this  drama  we  have  at  once  all  the  peculiarities  of  the  Aristophanjc 
comedy  : — his  bold  and  genial  originality,  the  lavish  abundance  of  highly- 
comic  scenes,  with  which  he  has  filled  every  part  of  his  piece,  the  surpris- 
ing and  striking  delineation  of  character  which  expresses  a  great,  deal 
with  a  few  master-touches,  the  vivid  and  plastic  power  with  which  the 
scenes  are  arranged,  and  the  ease  with  which  he  has  disposed  of  all  diffi- 
culties of  space  and  time.  As  this  play  possesses  its  author's  peculiar  char- 
acteristic in  such  perfection  and  completeness,  and  as  it  is  the  oldest  ex- 
tant comedy,  it  may  be  proper  in  this  place  to  give  such  an  analysis  of  it, 
as  may  serve  to  illustrate  not  merely  the  general  ideas,  which  we  have 
already  given,  but  also  the  whole  plot  and  technical  arrangement  of  the 
drama.  In  this  analysis  we  follow  M  tiller. 

The  stage  in  this  play  represents  sometimes  town  and  sometimes  coun- 
try, and  was  probably  so  arranged  that  both  were  shown  upon  it  at  once. 
When  the  comedy  begins,  the  stage  gives  us  a  glimpse  of  tjie  Pnyx,  a 
place  of  public  assembly,  that  is  to  say,  the  spectator  saw  the  bema  for 
the  orator  cut  out  of  a  rock,  and  around  it  some  seats  and  other  objects 
calculated  to  recall  the  recollection  of  the  well-known  place.  Here  sits 
the  worthy  DicaeOpolis,  a  citizen  of  the  old  school,  grumbling  about  his 
fellow-citizens,  who  do  not  come  punctually  to  the  Pnyx,  but  lounge  idly 
about  the  market-place,  which  is  seen  from  thence;  for  his  own  part,  al- 
though he  has  no  love  for  a  town-life,  with  its  bustle  and  gossip,  he 
Attends  the  assembly  regularly  in  order  to  speak  for  peace.  On  a  sudden 
the  Pry tanes  come  out  of  the  council-house ;  the  people  rush  in ;  a  well- 


356  ARISTOPHANES.  [LECT.  XIV. 


born  Athenian,  Amphitheus,  who  boasts  of  having  been  destined  by  the 
gods  to  conclude  a  peace  with  Sparta,  is  dismissed  with  the  utmost  con- 
tempt, in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  Dicaeopolis  in  his  behalf;  and  then,  to  the 
great  delight  of  the  war  party,  ambassadors  are  introduced,  who  have  re- 
turned from  Persia,  and  have  brought  with  them  a  Persian  messenger, 
'  the  Great  King's  eye,'  with  his  retinue :  this  forms  a  fantastic  procession, 
which,  as  Aristophanes  hints,  is  all  a  trick  and  imposture,  got  up  by  the 
demagogues  of  the  war  party.  Other  ambassadors  bring  a  similar  mes- 
senger from  Sitalus,  King  of  Thrace,  on  whose  assistance  the  Athenians 
of  the  day  built  a  great  deal,  and  drag  before  the  assembly  a  miserable 
rabble,  under  the  name  of  picked  Odomantian  troops,  which  the  Athe- 
nians are  to  take  into  their  service  for  very  high  pay.  Meanwhile,  Di- 
caeopolis, seeing  that  he  cannot  turn  affairs  into  another  channel,  has  sent 
Amphitheus  to  Sparta  on  his  own  account ;  the  messenger  returns  in  a 
few  minutes  with  various  treaties,  some  for  a  longer,  others  for  a  shorter 
time,  in  the  form  of  wine-jars,  like  those  which  were  used  for  pouring  out 
libations  on  the  conclusion  of  a  treaty  of  peace ;  Dicaeopolis  selects  a 
thirty  years'  truce  by  sea  and  land,  which  does  not  smell  of  pitch  and  tar, 
like  a  short  armistice  in  which  there  is  only  just  time  to  calk  the  ships. 
All  these  delightful  scenes  are  possible  only  in  comedy  like  that  of  Aris- 
tqphanes,  which  has  its  outward  form  for  the  representation  of  every 
relation,  every  function,  and  every  character;  which  is  able  to  sketch 
everything  in  bold  colors  by  means  of  grotesque  speaking  figures,  and 
does  not  trouble  itself  with  confining  the  activity  of  these  figures  to  the 
laws  of  reality  and  the  probabilities  of  actual  life. 

The  first  dramatic  complication  which  Aristophanes  introduces  into  his 
plot,  arises  from  the  chorus,  which  consists  of  Acharnians^  that  is,  the 
inhabitants  of  a  large  village  of  Attica,  where  the  people  gainei  a  liveli- 
hood chiefly  by  charcoal-burning,  the  materials  for  which  were  supplied 
by  the  neighboring  mountain-forests.  They  are  represented  as  rude, 
robust  old  fellows,  hearts  of  oak,  martial  by  their  disposition,  and  espe- 
cially incensed  against  the  Peloponnesians,  who  had  destroyed  all  the 
vineyards  in  their  first  invasion  of  Attica.  These  old  Acharnians  at  first 
appear  in  pursuit  of  Amphitheus,  who,  they  hear,  has  gone  to  Sparta  to 
bring  treaties  of  peace.  In  his  stead  they  fall  in  with  Dicaeopolis,  who  is 
engaged  in  celebrating  the  festival  of  the  country  Dionysia,  here  repre- 
sented as  an  abstract  of  every  sort  of  rustic  merriment  and  jollity,  from 
which  the  Athenians  at  that  time  were  debarred.  The  chorus  no  sooner 
learns  from  the  phallus-song  of  Dicaeopolis,  that  he  is  the  person  who  has 
sent  for  the  treaties,  than  they  fall  upon  him  in  the  greatest  rage,  refuse 
to  hear  a  word  from  him,  and  are  going  to  stone  him  to  death  without 
the  least  compunction,  when  Dicaeopolis  seizes  a  charcoal-basket,  and 
threatens  to  punish  it  as  a  hostage  for  all  that  the  Acharnians  do  to  him- 
self. The  charcoal-basket,  which  the  Acharnians  needed  for  their  every- 
day occupations,  is  so  dear  to  their  hearts  that  they  are  willing,  for  its 


444A.C.]  ARISTOPHANES.  357 

sake,  to  listen  to  Dicaeopolis ;  especially  as  he  has  promised  to  speak, 
with  his  head  on  a  block,  on  condition  that  he  shall  be  beheaded  at  once 
if  he  fails  in  his  defence.  All  this  is  amusing  enough  in  itself,  but  be- 
comes additionally  ludicrous  when  we  remember  that  the  whole  of 
Dicaeopolis's  behavior  is  an  imitation  of  one  of  the  heroes  of  Euripides, 
the  rhetorical  and  plaintive  Telephus,  who  snatched  the  infant  Orestes 
from  his  cradle,  and  threatened  to  put  him  to  death,  unless  Agamemnon 
would  listen  to  him,  and  was  exposed  to  the  same  danger,  when  he  spoke 
before  the  Achaeans,  as  Dicaeopolis  is  when  he  argues  with  the  Achar- 
nians. 

»  Aristophanes  pursues  this  parody  still  farther,  as  it  furnishes  him  with 
the  means  of  exaggerating  the  situation  of  Dicaeopolis  in  a  very  comic 
manner ;  Dicagopolis  applies  to  Euripides  himself,  who  is  shown  to  the 
spectators  by  means  of  an  eccyclema,  in  his  garret,  surrounded  by  masks 
and  costumes,  such  as  he  was  fond  of  employing  for  his  tragic  heroes,  and 
begs  of  him  the  most  piteous  of  his  dresses,  upon  which  he  obtains  the 
most  deplorable  of  them  all, — that  of  Telephus.  We  pass  over  other 
mockeries. of  Euripides,  in  which  Aristophanes  indulges  from  pure  wan- 
tonness, and  turn  to  the  following  scene — one  of  the  chief  scenes  in  the 
piece — in  which  Dicaeopolis,  in  the  character  of  a  comic  Telephus,  and 
with  his  head  over  the  block,  pleads  for  peace  with  the  Spartans.  It  is 
obvious  that,  however  serious  Aristophanes  embraces  the  cause  of  the 
peace  party,  he  does  not,  or  this  occasion,  speak  one  word  in  serious 
earnest.  He  derives  the  whole  Peloponnesian  war  from  a  bold  frolic  on 
the  part  of  some  drunken  young  men,  who  had  carried  off  a  harlot  from 
Megara,  in  reprisal  for  which  the  Megarians  had  seized  on'some  of  the 
attendants  of  Aspasia.  As  this  explanation  is  not  satisfactory,  and  the 
chorus  even  summons  to  its  assistance  the  warlike  Lamachus,  who  rushes 
from  his  house  in  extravagant  military  costume,  Dicaeopolis  is  driven  to 
have  recourse  to  argumentum  ad  hominem,  and  he  impresses  on  the  old 
people  who  form  the  chorus,  that  they  are  obliged  to  serve  as  common 
soldiers,  while  young  braggadocios,  like  Lamachus,  made  a  pretty  liveli- 
hood by  serving  as  generals  and  ambassadors,  and  so  wasted  the  fat  of 
the  lancj.  This  produces  its  effect,  and  the  chorus  shows  an  inclination 
to  do  justice  to  Dicaeopolis.  This  catastrophe  of  the  piece  is  followed  by 
the  parabasis,  in  the  first  part  of  which  the  poet,  with  particular  reference 
to  his  last  play,  takes  credit  to  himself  for  being  an  estimable  friend  to 
the  people ;  he  says  that  he  does  not  indeed  spare  them,  but  that  they 
need  not  fear,  for  that  he  will  be  just  in.  his  satire.  The  second  part, 
however,  keeps  close  to  the  thought  which  Dicasopolis  had  awakened  in 
the  minds  of  the  chorus ;  they  complained  bitterly  of  the  assumption  of 
their  rights  by  the  clever,  witty,  and  ready  young  -men,  from  whom  they 
could  not  defend  themselves,  especially  in  the  law  courts. 

The  second  part  of  the  piece,  after  the  catastrophe  and  parabasis,  is 


358  ARISTOPHANES.  [LECT.  XIV. 

merely  a  description,  overflowing  with  wit  and  humor,  of  the  blessings 
which  peace  has  conferred  on  the  sturdy  Dicaeopolis.  At  first  he  opens 
his  free  market,  which  is  visited  in  succession  by  a  poor  starving  wretch 
from  Megara,  the  neighboring  country  to  Attica,  which,  poorly  gifted  by 
nature,  had  suffered  in  the  most  shocking  manner  from  the  Athenian 
blockade  and  by  a  yearly  devastation  of  its  territory,  and  by  a  stout 
Boeotian  from  the  fertile  land  on  the  shore  of  the  Copaic  lake,  which  was 
well  known  to  the  Athenians  for  its  eels.  For  want  of  other  wares  the 
Megarian  has  dressed  up  his  little  daughters  like  young  pigs,  and  the  honest 
Dicaeopolis  is  willing  to  buy  them  as  such,  though  he  is  strangely  sur- 
prised by  some  of  their  peculiarities — a  purely  ludicrous  scene,  which  was 
based,  perhaps,  on  the  popular  jokes  of  the  Athenians ;  a  Megarian  would 
gladly  sell  his  children  as  little  pigs  if  any  one  would  take  them  off  his 
hands :  we  could  point  out  many  jokes  of  this  kind  in  the  popular  life, 
as  well  of  ancient  as  of  modern  times.  During  this,  the  dealers  are  much 
troubled  by  sycophants,  a  race  who  lived  by  indictments,  and  were  espe- 
cially active  in  hunting  for  violations  of  the  customs'  laws.  They  want  to 
seize  on  the  foreign  goods,  as  contraband,  but  Dicaeopolis  makes  short 
work  with  them.  One  of  the  sycophants  he  drives  away  from  his  market ; 
the  other,  the  little  Hicarchus,  he  binds  up  in  a  bundle,  and  packs  him 
on  the  back  of  the  Boeotian,  who  shows  a  desire  to  take  him  away  as  a 
laughable  little  monkey. 

Now  begins,  on  a  sudden,  the 'Athenian  feast  of  the  pitchers.  Lama- 
chus  in  vain  sends  to  Dicaeopolis  for  some  of  his  purchases,  in  order  that 
he  may  keep  the  feast  merrily ;  but  the  good  citizen  keeps  everything  to 
himself,  and  the  chorus,  which  is  now  quite  converted,  admires  the  pru- 
dence of  Dicaeopolis,  and  the  happiness  he  has  gained  by  it.  In  the 
midst  of  his  preparations  for  a  sumptuous  banquet,  others  beg  for  some 
share  of  his  peace ;  he  returns  a  gruff  answer  to  a  countryman,  whose 
cattle  have  been  harried  by  the  Boeotians ;  but  he  behaves  a  little  more 
civilly  to  a  bride  who  wants  to  keep  her  husband  at  home.  Meanwhile, 
various  messages  are  brought — to  Lamachus,  that  he  must  march  against 
the  Boeotians,  who  are  going  to  make  an  inroad  into  Attica,  at  the  time 
of  the  feast  of  the  Choes — to  Dicaeopolis,  that  he  must  go  to  the  priest 
of  Bacchus,  in  order  to  assist  him  in  celebrating  the  feast  of  Choes.  Aris- 
tophanes works  out  this  contrast  in  a  very  amusing  manner,  by  making 
Dicaeopolis  parody  every  word  which  Lamachus  utters  as  he  is  preparing 
for  war,  so  as  to  transfer  it  to  his  own  festivities ;  and  when,  after  a  short 
time  which  the  chorus  fills  up  by  a  satirical  song,  Lamachus  is  brought 
back  from  the  war  wounded,  and  supported  by  two  servants — Dicseopolis 
meets  him  in  a  happy  state  of  intoxication,  and  leaning  on  the  arms  of 
two  young  females,  and  so  celebrates  his  triumphs  over  the  wounded  war- 
rior in  a  very  conspicuous  manner. 

To   say  nothing  of  the  pithy  humor  of  the  style,  and  the  beautiful 


444A.C.]  ARISTOPHANES.  359 

rhythms  and  happy  turns  of  the  choral  songs,  it  must  be  allowed  that  this 
series  of  scenes  has  been  devised  with  genial  merriment  from  beginning 
to  end,  and  that  they  must  have  produced  a  highly  comic  effect,  especially 
if  the  scenery,  costumes,  dances,  and  music  were  worthy  of  the  conceptions 
and  language  of  the  poet.  The  piece,  if  correctly  understood,  is  nothing 
but  a  Bacchic  revelry,  full  of  farce  and  wantonness ;  for  although  the 
conception  of  it  may  rest  upon  a  moral  foundation,  yet  the  author  is, 
throughout  the  piece,  utterly  devoid  of  seriousness  and  sobriety,  and  in 
every  representation,  as  well  of  the  victorious  as  of  the  defeated  party, 
follows  the  impulses  of  an  unrestrained  love  of  truth.  At  most,  Aris- 
tophanes expresses  his  own  sentiments  in  the  parabasis :  in  the  other 
parts  of  the  play  we  cannot  safely  recognize  the  opinions  of  the  poet  in 
the  deceitful  mirror  of  his  comedy. 

To  this  extended  analysis  of  this  important  play,  we  add  the  following 
brief  quotation.     It  is  the  last  act,  and  the  closing  scene  of  the  drama. 


ACT  FIFTH.— SCENE  FIRST. 
Enter  a  servant  of  Lamachus. 

Ser.    Domestics  of  the  house  of  Lamachus, 
Some  water,  water  in  a  pipkin  warm, 
Your  linen  rags,  and  sere  cloths,  too,  prepare, 
Some  wool  unwash'd,  and  bandage  for  the  ankle — 
A  man,  in  leaping. o'er  a  ditch,  has  been 
Hurt  by  a  stake,  and,  bending  back  his  ankle, 
Hath  dislocated  it.     His  head  he  broke 
Falling  upon  a  stone,  and  from  his  shield 
Batter'd  the  gorgon — while  the  mighty  crest 
Of  this  vain  boaster,  fallen  upon  the  rocks, 
He  spoke  a  mournful  strain — '0  glorious  sight, 
Now  for  the  last  time  seen,  I  quit  your  ray, 
Together  with  my  life.'     Thus  having  said, 
He  rises  from  the  gutter,  and  some'  thieves 
Encountering  in  their  flight,  with  his  bold  spear 
He  drives  and  thrusts  them  forward. — Lo !   himself — 
Open  the  door. 

Enter  LAMAOHUS,  out  of  breath. 

Lam.  Attatai,  attatai, 

These  sharp  cold  pangs  1   unhappy  that  I  am ; 
I  perish,  wounded  by  a  hostile  spear — 
And  that's  a  lamentable  grief  to  me  p 
For,  if  beheld  by  Dicaeopolis, 
How  my  calamities  will  be  derided ! 

Enter  DICAEOPOLIS,  as  not  perceiving  LAMACHUS  addressing  two  Courtezans. 

Die.    Attatai,  attalattatae !  those  breasts 
Swelling  with  quince's  hard  protuberance ! 


360  ARISTOPHANES.  [LEOT.  XIV. 

Enfold  me.  beauties,  with  a  wanton  kiss ; 
For  I  have  swallow'd  my  libation  first. 

Lam.    O  wretched  chance  of  woes  1   0  painful  wounds  1 

Die.    All  hail,  knight  Lamachus ! 

Lam.    0  wretched  me  ! 

Die.     I  labor  too  with  grief. 

Lam.     Why  mock'st  thou  me? 

Die.    Why  dost  thou  bite  me? 

Lam.  What  a  heavy  cost 

Of  war  have  I  sustain'd  1 

Die.  Has  any  one 

His  reckoning  paid  at  the  libation  feast? 

Lam.    0  Paeon,  Paeon! 

Die.  But  this  present  day 

We  hold  not  the  Paeonian  festival. 

Lam.    Support  my  legs,  0  friends  I 

Die.  And  you,  my  dears, 

Hold  me  in  the  same  way. 

Lam.  Struck  by  a  stone, 

My  dizzy  head  turns  round,  as  with  vertigo. 

Die.    And  fain  would  I  upon  the  bed  recline, 
Urg'd  to  the  deed  of  darkness. 

Lam.  Carry  me 

To  seek  the  healing  aid  of  Pettilus. 

Die.    Bear  me  before  the  judges.    Where's  the  king  ? 
Restore  my  bottle. 

Lam.    .  An  afflicting  spear 

Strikes  through  my  bones. 

Die.  Behold  this  empty  jug — 

Hurrah,  victorious ! 

Cho.  And  hurrah  again, 

Triumphant  old  man,  since  thou  callest  out. 

Die.     Pure  wine,  moreover,  pour'd  into  the  cup, 
I  at  a  single  draught  have  swallow'd  down. 

Cho.     Hurrah,  thou  generous  man — go  take  thy  bottle. 

tUc.     Come,  fellow,  shouting  the  triumphant  strain. 

Cho.     Yes,  we  will  follow — and  our  song  shall  be, 
Thou  with  the  sack,  thy  prize  of  victory. 

The  Knights  presents  a  remarkable  contrast  to  the  Acharnians.  It  is 
by  far  the  most  violent  and  angry  production  of  the  Aristophanic  Muse — 
that  which  has  most  of  the  bitterness  of  Archilochus,  and  least  of  the 
harmless  humor  and  riotous  merriment  of  the  Dionysia.  In  this  instance 
comedy  almost  transgresses  its  proper  limits  :  it  is  almost  converted  into 
an  arena  for  political  champions  fighting  for  life  and  death  :  the  most 
violent  party  animosity  is  combined  with  some  obvious  traces  of  per- 
sonal irritation,  which  is  justified  by  the  judicial  persecution  of  the  author 
of  the  Babylonians.  The  number  of  characters  is  small  and  unpretend- 
ing. The  whole  dramatis  persona  consists  of  an  old  master  with  three 
slaves,  (one  of  whom,  a  Paphlagonian,  completely  governs  his  master,) 
and  a  sausage-seller. 


444  A.C.]  ARISTOPHANES.  301 

The  old  master,  however,  is  the  Demus  of  Athens,  the  slaves  are  the 
Athenian  generals  Nidas  and  Demosthenes,  and  the  Paphlagonian  is 
Cleon.  The  sausage -seller  alone  is  a  fiction  of  the  poet's — a  rude,  un- 
educated, impudent  fellow,  from  the  dregs  of  the  people,  who  is  set  up 
against  Cleon  in  order  that  he  may,  by  his  audacity,  bawl  down  Cleon's 
impudence,  and  so  drive  the  formidable  demagogue  out  of  the  field  in  the 
only  way  that  is  possible.  Even  the  chorus  has  nothing  imaginary  about 
it,  but  consists  of  the  Knights  of  the  State,  that  is,  of  citizens  who,  ac- 
cording to  Solon's  classification,  paid  taxes  according  to  the  rating  of  a 
Knight's  property,  and  most  of  whom,  at  the  same  time,  still  served  as 
cavalry  in  time  of  war.  Being  the  most  numerous  portion  of  the  wealthier 
and  better-educated  class,  they  could  not  fail  to  have  a  decided  antipathy 
to  Cleon,  who  had  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  mechanics  and  poorer 
people. 

We  see  that  in  this  piece  Aristophanes  lays  all  the  stress  on  the 
political  tendency,  and  considers  the  comic  plot  rather  as  the  form  and 
dress,  than  as  the  body  and  primary  part  of  his  play.  The  allegory, 
which  is  obviously  chosen  merelj  to  cover  the  sharpness  of  the  attack,  is 
cast  over  it  only  like  a  thin  veil,  according  to  his  own  pleasure ;  the  poet 
speaks  of  the  affairs  of  the  Demus  sometimes  as  a  matter  of  family 
arrangement,  and  sometimes  as  public  transactions.  The  whole  piece 
has  the  form  of  a  contest.  The  sausage-seller,  in  whom  an  oracle,  which 
has  been  stolen  from  the  Paphlagonian  while  he  was  sleeping,  recognizes 
his  victorious  opponent,  first  measures  his  strength  against  him  in  a  dis- 
play of  impudence  and  rascality,  by  which  the  poet  assumes  that  of  the 
qualities  requisite  to  the  demagogue  these  are  the  most  essential.  The 
sausage-seller  narrates  that  having,  while  a  boy,  stolen  a  piece  of  meat 
and  boldly  denied  the  theft,  a  statesman  had  predicted  that  the  city 
would  one  day  trust  itself  to  his  guidance.  After  the  parabasis,  the 
contest  begins  afresh.  The  rivals,  who  had  in  the  meantime  endeavored 
to  recommend  themselves  to  the  council,  come  before  Demus  himself, 
who  takes  his  seat  on  the  Pnyx,  and  sue  for  the  favor  of  the  childish  old 
man.  Combined  with  serious  reproaches  directed  against  Cleon's  whole 
system  of  policy,  we  have  a  number  of  joking  contrivances,  as  when  the 
sausage-seller  places  a  cushion  under  the  Demus,  in  order  that  he  may 
not  gall  that  which  sat  by  the  oar  at  Salamis. 

The  contest  at  last  turns  upon  the  oracles,  to  which  Cleon  used  to  ap- 
peal in  his  public  speeches.  In  this  department,  too,  the  sausage-seller 
outbids  his  rival  by  producing  announcements  of  the  greatest  comfort  to 
the  Demus,  and  ruin  to  his  opponent.  As  a  merry  supplement  to  these 
long-spun  transactions,  we  have  a  scene  which  must  have  been  highly  en- 
tertaining to  eye  and  ear  alike :  the  Paphlagonian  and  the  sausage-seller 
sit  down  as  eating-house  keepers  at  two  tables,  on  which  a  number  of 
hampers  and  eatables  are  set  out,  and  bring  one  article  after  another  to 
the  Demus  with  ludicrous  ^recommendations  of  their  excellency.  In  this, 


362  ARISTOPHANES.  [LECT.  XIV. 

too,  the  sausage- seller,  of  course,  pays  his  court  to  the  Demus  more  suc- 
cessfully than  his  rival.  After  a  second  parabasis  we  see  the  Demus — 
whom  the  sausage-seller  has  restored  to  youth,  by  boiling  him  in  his 
kettle,  as  Medea  did  .^Eson — in  youthful  beauty,  but  attired  in  the  old- 
fashioned  splendid  costume,  shining  with  peace  and  contentment,  and  in 
his  new  state  of  mind  heartily  ashamed  of  his  former  absurdities. 

At  the  very  time  when  Aristophanes  produced  this  comedy,  Cleon's 
reputation  was  at  its  height ;  for  fortune,  in  one  of  her  strange  freaks, 
had  realized  his  inconsiderate  boast,  that  it  -would  be  an  easy  matter  for 
him  to  capture  the  Spartans  in  Sphacteria.  Hence,  when  the  poet  en: 
deavored  to  obtain  a  mask  of  Cleon,  he  could  find  no  mask-maker  of 
sufficient  boldness  to  construct  one  for  him  ;  much  less  could  he  find  an 
actor  willing  to  personate  the  character.  Nothing  daunted,  however,  he 
colored  his  own  face  appropriately,  and  performed  the  character  himself. 
The  features  of  this  play  are  so  distinctly  marked,  that  we  much  regret 
our  space  will  allow  us  to  make  the  following  brief  extract  only : — 


SCENE  FOURTH. 

Nitias,  Demosthenes,  Cleon,  Sausage-seller,  and  Chorus. 
CHORUS   OF  KNIGHTS. 

Stripes  and  torment,  whips  and  scourges,  for  the  toll-collecting  knave! 

Knighthood  wounded,  troops  confounded,  chastisement  and  vengeance  crave. 

Taxes  sinking,  tributes  shrinking,  mark  his  appetite  for  plunder ; 

At  his  craw  and  ravening  maw,  dykes  and  whirlpools  fail  for  wonder  ! 

Explanation  and  evasion — covert  act  and  close  deceit — 

Fraudful  funning,  force  and  cunning,  who  with  him  in  these  compete  ? 

He  can  cheat  and  eke  repeat  twenty  times  his  felon  feat, 

All  before  yon  blessed  sun  has  quenched  his  lamp  of  glowing  heat. 

Then  to  him — pursue  him — strike,  shiver  and  hew  him; 

Confound  him  and  bound  him,   and  storm  all  around  him. 

Confounded  by  this  attack,  Cleon  calls  loudly  on  the  members  of  the 
high  court  of  Athenian  judicature  for  help — 

Judges,  jurymen,  or  pleaders,  ye  whose  soul  is  in  your  fee ; 

Ye,  that  in  a  three-piec'd  obol,  father,  mother,  brother,  see; 

Ye  whose  food  I'm  still  providing,  straining  voice  through  right  and  wrong — 

Mark  and  see — conspiracy  drives  and  buffets  me  along  ? 

Ch.     'Tis  with  reason — 'tis  in  season — 'tis  as  you  yourself  have  done : 
Thou  fang,  thou  claw, — thou  gulf,  thou  maw, — yielding  partage  fair  to  none. 
Where's  the  officer  at  audit,  but  has  felt  your  cursed  gripe? 
Squeez'd  and  tried  with  nice  di-cernment,  whether  yet  the  wretch  be  ripe. 
Like  the  men  our  figs  who  gather,  you  are  skilful  to  discern 
Which  is  green,  and  which  is  ripe,  and  which  is  just  upon  the  turn. 


444A.C.]  ARISTOPHANES.  363 

Is  there  one  well-purs'd  amongst  us,  lamb-like  in  heart  and  life, 
Link'd  and  wedded  to  retirement,  hating  bus'ness,  hating  strife? 
Soon  your  greedy  eye's  upon  him — when  his  mind  is  least  at  home, — 
Room  and  place — from  farthest  Thrace,  at  your  bidding  he  must  come, 
Foot  and  hand  are  straight  upon  him — neck  and  shoulder  in  your  grip. 
To  the  ground  anon  he's  thrown,  and  you  smite  him  on  the  hip. 

Cleon.  (fawning.)     Ill  from  you  comes  this  irruption,  you  for  whom  my  cares 

provide, 

To  reward  old  deeds  of  valor, — stone  and  monumental  pride. 
'Twos  my  purpose  to  deliver  words  and  speech  to  that  intent — 
And  for  such  my  good  intention,  must  I  be  thus  tempest-rent  ? 

Ch.     Fawning  braggart,  proud  deceiver,  yielding  like  a  pliant  thong! 
We  are  not  old  men  to  cozen  and  to  gull  with  lying  tongue. 
Fraud  or  force — assault  or  parry — at  all  points  will  we  pursue  thee  : 
And  the  course  which  first  exalted,  knave,  that  same  shall  now  undo  thee. 

Cleon.  (to   the  audience.)     Town  and  weal — I  make  appeal — back  and  breast 
these  monsters  feel. 

Ch.     Have  we  wrung  a  clamor  from  thee,  pest  and  ruin  of  the  town! 

Sausage.     Clamor  as  he  will,  I'll  raise  a  voice  that  shall  his  clamor  drown. 

Ch.     To  outreach  this  knave  in  speech  were  a  great  and  glorious  feat — 
But  to  pass  in  face  and  brass — that  were  triumph  all  complete. 

Cleon.  (to  the  audience.)    Allegation,  affirmation,  I  am  here  prepared  to  make, 
That  this  man  (pointing  to  sausage-seller)  shipp'd  spars    and  sausages,  and  all  for 
Sparta's  sake. 

Sausage.     Head   and  oath,  I  stake  them  both,  and  free  before  this  presence  say, 
That  the  hall  a  guest  most  hungry  sees  in  this  man  (pointing  to  Cleon)  every  day : 
He  walks  in  with  belly  empty  and  with  full  one  goes  away. 

Demus.     Add  to  this,  on  my  witness,  that  in  covert  close  disguise, 
Of  fish,  and  flesh,  and  bread  most  fragrant,  he  makes  there  unlawful  prize; 
Pericles,  in  all  his  grandeur,  ne'er  was  gifted  in  such  guise. 

Cleon.  (loudly.)     Fate  had  mark'd  you  with  her  eye : 
Yet  awhile,  and  both  must  die. 

Sausage,  (louder.)     Pitch  your  voice,  knave,  as  you  will, 
I'll  that  voice  out-clamor  still. 

Cleon.  (crescendo.)     When  I  soar,  the  ocean's  roar 
Fails  for  very  wonder. 

Sausage.     In  my  throat  I've  but  one  note, 
And  that  note  is — thunder.     (Very  loud.) 

Glenn.     I  have  test  your  parts  to  try : 
Look  at  me,  nor  wink  your  eye. 

Sausage.     Be  your  challenge  on  your  head :  (Looks  without  winking) 
Where  suppose  ye  I  was  bred  ? 

Cleon.     I  can  steal,  and,  matchless  grace  I 
Own  it  with  unblushing  face; 
You  dare  not  thus  pursue  it. 

Sausage.     Empty  boasting,  void  as  air 
I  can  steal,  and  then  outswear 
The  man  who  saw  me  do  it. 

Cleon.  .(mortified.)     Small  applause  your  feats  demand; 
The  art,  'tis  known, 
Is  not  your  own; 
You're  but  a  knave  at  second  hand. 


364  ARISTOPHANES.  [LEOT.  XIV. 

But  to  the  hall  anon  I  go ; 
Incontinent  our  chairmen  know 
You've  intestines  here  which  owe 
A  tythe  to  Jove  and  heaven. 

Ch.     Wretch!   without  a  parallel, — 

Son  of  thunder, — child  of  hell,— 

Creature  of  one  mighty  sense, 

Concentrated  Impudence ! — 

From  earth's  centre  to  the  sea, 

Nature  stinks  of  that  and  thee. 

ft  stalks  at  the  bar, 

It  lurks  at  the  tolls; 

In  th'  assembly,  black  war 

And  defiance  it  rolls, 

It  speaks  to  our  ears 

In  an  accent  of  thunder,     ' 

It  climbs  to  the  spheres 

And  rives  heaven  asunder. 


This  storm  is  kept  up  so  loudly  and  incessantly,  that  Creon  finally 
throws  himself  upon'  the  senate,  and  challenges  his  rival  to  meet  him  at 
that  awful  bar.  Sausage  professes  his  willingness  to  do  so ;  and  the  Cho- 
rus, considering  him  as  one  of  the  combatants  who  were  going  to  exhibit 
in  the  wrestling  school,  anoint  his  body  with  the  fat  of  his  own  sausages, 
that  he  may  '  slip  from'  his  adversary's  calumnies :'  they  feed  hftn  like  a 
fighting  cock  with  pungent  garlic,  and  then,  as  though  he  were  that  bird, 
remind  him  of  the  manner  in  which  he  is  to  conduct  the  combat.  Mean- 
time the  following  Parabasis,  or  digressive  address  to  the  audience  is 
pronounced  i* 

PARABASIS. 

Were  it  one   of  that  old  school,  learned  sirs,  who  long  the  rule 

And  the  tone  to  our  drama  hath  given, 
Who  his  lessons  and  his  verse  having  taught  us  to  rehearse 

Would  before  this  high  presence  have  driven : 
'Tis  great  chance  that  his  request,  however  warmly  pressed, 

Might  have  met  with  no  easy  compliance : — 
But  indulgent  we  have  heard  the  petitions  of  a  bard 

Of  new  mettle  and  noblest  compliance. 
And  may  he  command  aid  and  service  at  your  hand; 

For  his  hatreds  and  ours  closely  blending 
Into  one  concurring  point  leap,  and  hand  and  heart  and  joint 

To  the  same  noble  object  are  tending. 
He  no  shade  nor  shelter  seeks — what  he  thinks  he  boldly  speaks : — 

Neither  skirmish  nor  conflict  declining, 
He  marches  all-elate  'gainst  that  Typhon  of  the  State, 

Storm  and  hurricane  and  tempest  combining. 
Marvel  much  we  hear  has  grown,  and  inquiries  through  the  town, 

Of  the  poet  have  been  most  unsparing, 


444  A.C.]  ARISTOPHANES.  365 

(With  submission  be  it  known,  that  these  words  are  not  our  own, 

But  his  own  proper  speech  and  declaring,) 
"Why  his  dramas  hitherto  came  not  forward  as  was  due, 

Their  own  proper  Choregus  obtaining; 
Take  us  with  you,  sirs,  awhile,  and  a  moment's  easy  toil 

Will  in  brief  be  the  reason  explaining. 
'Twas  no  folly  bred,  we  say,  this  distrust  and  cold  delay, 

But  a  sense  of  th'  extreme  application 
And  the  toil  which  he,  who  woos  in  our  town  the  comic  muse, 

Must  encounter  in  such  his  vocation. 
Then  your  tempers   quick — severe — everchanging  with  the  year — 

To  this  thought  added  fears  more  appalling, 
And  a  sense  of  those  disasters  which,  through  you,  their  fickle  master, 

Old  age  on  our  poets  sees  falling. 
Could  it  'scape  observing  sight,  what  was  Magnes'  wretched  plight, 

Wh'en  the  hairs  on  his  4emples  were  hoary  ? 
Yet  who  battled  with  more  zeal,  or  more  trophies  left  to  tell 

Of  his  former  achievements  and  glory  ? 
He  came  piping,  dancing,  tapping, — fig-gnatting  and  wing-clapping, — 

Frog-besmear'd  and  with  Lydian  grimaces ; 
Yet  he,  too,  had  his  date,  nor  could  wit  nor  merit  great 

Preserve  him,  unchang'd  in  your  graces. 
Who  Cratinus  may  forget,  or  the  storm  of  whim  and  wit, 

Which  shook  theatres  under  his  guiding? 
When  panegyric's  song  pour'd  her  flood  of  praise  along, 

Who  but  he  on  the  top  wave  was  riding? 
Who  but  he  the  foremost  guest  then  on  gala-day  and  feast  ? 

What  strain  fell  from  harp  or  musician, 
But  '  Doro,  Doro,  sweet  nymph  with  fig-beslipper'd  feet,' 

Or — '  Ye  verse-smiths  and  bard-mechanicians  ?' 
Thus  in  glory  was  he  seen,  while  his  years,  as  yet,  were  green; 

But  now  that  his  dotage  is  on  him, 
God  help  him  !   for  no  eye,  of  all  who  pass  him  by, 

Throws  a  look  of  compassion  upon  him. 
'Tis  a  couch,  but  with  the  loss  of  its  garnish  and  its  gloss; — 

Tis  a  harp  that  hath  lost  all  its  cunning, — 
'Tis  a  pipe,  where  deftest  hand  may  the  stops  no  more  command, 

Nor  on  its  divisions  be  running. 
Conuas-like,  his  chaplet-crown'd,  and  he  paces  round  and  round, 

In  a  circle,  which  never  is  ended; — 
On  his  head  a  chaplet  hangs,  but  the  curses  and  the  pangs 

Of  a  draught  on  his  lips  are  suspended. 
O,  if  ever  yet  on  bard  waited,  page-like,  high  reward ; — 

Former  exploits  and  just  reputation, 
By  an  emphasis  of  right,  sure  had  earn'd  this  noble  wight 

In  the  hall  a  ne'er-failing  potation ; 
And  in  theatres'  high  station ;  there  as  mark  for  Admiration 

To  anchor  her  aspect  and  face  on, 
In  his  honor  he  should  sit,  nor  serve  triflers  in  the  pit, 

As  an  object  their  rude  jests  ta  pass  on. 
I  spare  myself  the  toil  to  record  the  buffets  vile, 

The  affronts  and  the  contumelies  hateful, 


366  ARISTOPHANES.  [LECT.  XIV 

Which  on  Crates  frequent  fell ;  yet  I  dare  you,  sirs,  to  tell 

Where  was  caterer  more  pleasing  and  grateful? 
Who  knew  better  how  to  lay  soup  piquant  and  entremets, 

Dainty  patties  and  little  side-dishes  ? 
Where,  with  all  your  bards,  a  muse  cook'd  more  delicate  ragouts, 

Or  hashed  sentiment  so  to  your  wishes  ? 
Princely  cost  nor  revenue  ask'd  his  banquets,  ^it  is  true; 

Yet  he  is  the  only  stage-master, 
Through  all  changes  and  all  chances  who  undaunted  still  advances 

Alike  master  of  success  and  disaster. . 
Sirs,  ye  need  no  more  to  hear— ye  know  whence  the  hue  of  fear 

O'er  our  bard's  cheek  of  enterprise  stealing, 
And  why,  like  prudent  men,  who  look    forth  with  wider  ken, 

In  proverbs  he's  wont  to  be  dealing; 
Saying — better  first  explore  what  the  powers  of  scull  and  oar, 

Ere  the  helm  and  the  rudder  you'^  trying: 
At  the  prow  next  take  your  turn,  there  the  mysteries  to  learn 

Of  the  scud  and  the  winds,  that  are  flying. 
This  mastery  attain'd,  time  it  is  a  skiff  were  gain'd, 

And  your  pilotage  put  upon  trial; — 
Thus  with  caution  and  due  heed,  step  by  step  would  he  proceed 

In  a  cause  that  should  challenge  denial. 
Nor  let  it  breed  offence,  if  for  such  befitting  sense 

And  so  modest  a  carriage  and  bearing 
We  ask  some  mark  of  State  on  its  author  here  to  wait, — 
Guard  of  honor,  procession,  or  chairing  : — 
With  a  shout  of  such  cheering 
As  Bacchus  is  hearing, 
When  vats  over  flowing 
Set  Mirth  all  a-crowing, 
And  Joy  and  Wine  meet 
Hand-in-hand  in  the  street. 
So  his  purpose  attain'd 
And  the  victory  gain'd, 
Your  bard  shall  depart 
With  a  rapture-touch'd  heart, 
While  Triumph  shall  throw 
O'er  his  cheeks  such  a  glow, 
That  Pleasure  might  trace 
Her  own  self  in  his  face. 
****** 


CHORAL  HYMN. 

0  Thou,  whom  patroness  we  call 
Of  this  the  holiest  land  of  all 

That  circling  seas  admire  ; 
The  land  where  Power  delights  to  dwell, 
And  War  his  mightiest  feats  can  tell, 
And  Poesy  to  sweetest  swell 

Attunes  her  voice  and  lyre. 


444A.C.]  ARISTOPHANES.  367 

Come,  blue-eyed  Maid,  and  with  thee  bring 
The  goddess  of  the  eagle-wing, 

To  help  our  bold  endeavor ; 
Long  have  our  armies  own'd  thine  aid, 
O  Victory,  immortal  Maid ; 
But  now  of  other  deeds  we  tell; 
A  bolder  %foe  remains  to  quell ; 

Give  aid  then  now  or  never. 

The  Clouds  has  uniformly  been  considered  the  master-piece  of  Aris- 
tophanes' comedies.  In  it  the  poet  attacks  the  sophistical  principles  at 
their  source,  and  selects  as  their  representative  Socrates,  whom  he 
exhibits  in  the  most  odious  light.  The  selection  of  Socrates  for  this 
purpose  is  doubtless  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  supposition^  that  Aris- 
tophanes observed  the  great  philosopher  from  a  distance  only,  while  his 
own  unphilosophical  turn  of  mind  prevented  him  from  entering  into 
Socrates'  merits,  both  as  a  teacher  and  a  practiser  of  morality,  and  by 
the  fact  that  Socrates  was  an  innovator,  the  friend  of  Euripides,  the 
teacher  of  Alcibiades,  and  the  disciple  of  Archelaus;  and  that  there  was 
much  in  his  appearance  and  habits  in  the  highest  degree  ludicrous".  The 
philosopher  who  wore  no  under-garments,  and  the  same  upper  robe  in 
winter  and  summer — who  generally  went  barefoot,  possessing  but  one 
pair  of  dress-shoes,  which  lasted  him  for  life — who  used  to  stand  for 
hours  together  in  a  public  place  in  a  fit  of  abstraction — to  say  nothing  of 
his  snub  nose,  and  extraordinary  face  and  figure — could  hardly  expect  to 
escape  the  license  of  the  old  comedy.  The  invariably  speculative  turn 
which  he  gave  to  the  conversation,  his  bare  acquiescence  in  the  stories  of 
Greek  mythology,  which  Aristophanes  would  think  it  dangerous  even  to 
subject  to  inquiry,  had  certainly  produced  an  unfavorable  opinion  of 
Socrates  in  the  minds  of  many,  and  explain  his  being  set  down  by  Aris- 
tophanes as  an  arch-sophist,  and  represented  even  as  a  thief. 

In  the  Clouds,  Socrates  is  described  as  corrupting  a  young  man  named 
Phidippides,  who  is  wasting  his  father's  money  by  an  insane  passion  for 
horses,  and  is  sent  to  the  subtlety-shop  of  Socrates  and  Chaeriphon  to  be 
still  farther  set  free  from  moral  restraint,  and  particularly  to  acquire  the 
needful  accomplishment  of  cheating  his  creditors.  In  this  spendthrift 
youth  it  is  scarcely  possible  not  to  recognize  Alcibiades,  not  only  from 
his  general  character  and  connections  with  the  sophists,  but  also  from 
more  particular  traits,  as  allusions  to  his  inability  to  articulate  certain 
letters,  and  to  his  love  for  horse-breeding  and  driving.  Aristophanes 
would  be  prevented  from  introducing  him  by  name  in  the  play,  from  fear 
of  the  violent  measures  which  Alcibiades  was  accustomed  to  adopt  towards 
the  comic  poets  who  incensed  him.  The  instructions  of  Socrates  teaeK 
Phidippides  not  only  to  defraud  his  creditors,  but  also  to  beat  his  father, 
and  disown  the  authority  of  the  gods ;  and  the  play  ends  by  the  father's 
preparations  to  burn  the  philosopher  and  his  own  establishment.  The 


368  ARISTOPHANES.  [LECT.  XIV. 

hint  given  towards  the  end  of  the  play,  of  the  propriety  of  prosecuting 
Socrates,  was  acted  upon  nearly  twenty  years  afterwards,  and  Aristoph- 
anes was  believed  to  have  contributed  to  his  death,  as  the  charges  brought 
against  him  before  the  court  of  justice  express  the  substance  of  those 
contained  in  the  Clouds.  The  following  scene  embraces  '  The  Chorus  of 
the  Clouds  ' — one  of  the  finest  efforts  of  Aristophanes'  Muse  : 


SOCRATES.— STREPSIADES. 

Soc.  Art  thou  ambitious 

To  be  instructed  in  celestial  matters, 
And  taught  to  know  them  clearly  ? 

Streps.  Aye,  aye,  in  faith, 

So  they  be  to  my  purpose,  and  celestial. 

Soc.     And  if  I  bring  you  to  a  conference 
With  my  'own  proper  goddesses,  the  Clouds  ? 

Streps.     'Tis  what  I  wish  devoutly. 

Soc.  Come  sit  down; 

Repose  upon  this  sacred  couch. 

Streps.     'Tis  done. 

Soc.     Now  take  the  chaplet — wear  it. 

Streps.  Why  this  ehaplet  ? 

Would'st  make  of  me  another  Athamas, 
And  sacrifice  me  to  a  Cloud  ? 

Soc.  Fear  nothing; 

It  is  a  ceremony  indispensable 
At  our  initiations. 

Streps.     What  to  gain  ? 

Soc.  (instead  of  the  sacred  meat,  which  was  thrown  on  the  sacrificed 
victim,  a  basket  of  stones  is  showered  on  the  head  of  Strep- 
siades.) 

'Twill  sift  your  faculties  as  fine  as  powder, 
Bolt  'em  like  meal,  grind  'em  as  light  as  dust; 
Only  be  patient. 

Streps.  Truly  you'll  go  near 

To  make  your  words  good ;   an'  you  pound  me  thus, 
You'll  make  me  very  duet,  and  nothing  else. 

Soc.     (assuming  .all  the  magical  solemnity  and  tone  of  voice  of  an 

adept.) 

Keep  silence  then,  and  listen  to  a  prayer, 
Which  fits  the  gravity  of  age  to  hear — 
Oh !    Air,  all-powerful  Air,  which  dost  enfold 
This  pendent  globe,  thou  vault  of  flaming  gold, 
Ye  sacred  Clouds,  who  bid  the  thunder  roll, 
Shine  forth,  approach,  and  cheer  your  suppliant's  soul! 

Streps.     Hold,  keep  'em  off  awhile,  till  I  am  ready. 
Ah!   luckless  me,  would  I  had  brought  my  bonnet, 
And  so  escaped  a  soaking. 

Soc.  Come,  come  away  I 

Fly  swift,  ye  Clouds,  and  give  yourselves  to  viewl 


444A.C.]  ARISTOPHANES.  369 

Whether  on  high  Olympus'  sacred  top 

Snow-crown'd  ye  sit,  or  in  the  azure  vales 

Of  your  own  father  Ocean  sporting  weave 

Your  misty  dance,  or  dip  your  golden  urns 

In  the  seven  mouths  of  Nile ;   whether  ye  dwell 

On  Thracian  Mimas,  or  Maeotis'  lake, 

Hear  me,  yet  hear,  and  thus  invok  d  approach ! 

Chorus  of  Clouds.     (The  scene  is  at  the  remotest  part  of  the  stage. 
Thunder  is  heard.     A  large  and  shapeless  Cloud  is  seen  floating 
in  the  air  ;  from  which  the  following  song  is  heard:) 
Ascend,  ye  watery  Clouds,  on  high, 
Daughters  of  Ocean,  climb  the  sky, 
And  o'er  the  mountain's  pine-capt  brow 
Towering  your  fleecy  mantle  throw : 
Thence  let  us  scan  the  wide-stretch'd  scene, 
Groves,  lawns,  and  rilling  streams  between, 
And  stormy  Neptune's  vast  expanse, 
And  grasp  all  nature  at  a  glance. 
Now  the  dark  tempest  flits  away, 
And  lo  !   the  glittering  orb  of  day 
Darts  forth  his  clear  ethereal  beam, 
Come  let  us  snatch  the  joyous  gleam. 
Soc.    Yes,  ye  Divinities,  whom  I  adore, 
I  hail  you  now  propitious  to  my  prayer. 
Didst  thou  not  hear  them  speak  in  thunder  to  me? 

Streps,    (kneeling,  and  with  various  acts  of  buffoonery,  affecting  terror 

and  embarrassment.) 

And  I  too  am  your  Cloudships'  most  obedient, 
And  under  sufferance  trurnp  against  your  thunder  :— 
Nay,  (turning  to  Socrates,)  take  it  how  you  may,  my  frights  and  fears 
Have  pinch'd  and  cholic'd  my  poor  bowels— 
****** 
*  *  *  .          *  *  * 

Soc.  Forbear 

Those  gross  scurrilities,  for  low  buffoons 
And  mountebanks  more  fitting.     Hush!  be  still, 
List  to  the  chorus  of  their  heavenly  voices, 
For  music  is  the  language  they  delight  in. . 
Chorus  of  Clouds,     (approaching  nearer)     Ye 
Clouds,  replete  with  fruitful  showers, 
Here  let  us  seek  Minerva's  towers, 
The  cradle  of  old  Cecrops'  race, 
The  world's  chief  ornament  and  grace : 
Here  mystic  fanes  and  rites  divine 
And  lamps  in  sacred  splendor  shine ; 
Here  the  gods  dwell  in  marble  domes, 
Feasted  with  costly  hecatombs, 
That  round  their  votive  statues  blaze, 
Whilst  crowded  temples  ring  with  praise; 
And  pompous  sacrifices  here 
Make  holidays  throughout  the  year, 
And  when  gay  spring-time  comes  again, 
Bromius  convokes  his  sportive  train, 
24 


370  ARISTOPHANES.  [LECT.  XIV 

And  pipe,  and  song,  and  choral-dance 
Hail  the  soft  hours  as  they  advance. 

Streps.    Now,  in  the  name  of  Jove,  I  pray  thee  tell  me, 
Who  are  those  ranting  dames  that  talk  in  stilts  ? 
Of  the  Amazonian  cast  no  doubt. 

Soc.  Not  so, 

No  dames,  but  Clouds  celestial,  friendly  powers 
To  men  of  sluggish  parts ;   from  these  we  draw 
Sense,  apprehension,  volubility, 
Wit  to  confute,  and  cunning  to  ensnare. 

Streps.    Aye,  therefore  'twas  that  my  heart  leapt  within  me 
For  very  sympathy  when  first  I  heard  'em: 
Now  I  could  prattle  shrewdly  of  first  causes, 
And  spin  out  metaphysic  cobwebs  finely, 
And  dogmatize  most  rarely,  and  dispute 
And  paradox  it  with  the  best  of  you : 
So,  come  what  may,  I  must  and  will  behold  'em; 
Show  me  their  faces,  I  conjure  you. 

Soc.  Look, 

Look  towards  Mount  Parnes  as  I  point — There,  there  1 
Now  they  descend  the  hill ;   I  see  them  plainly, 
As  plain  as  can  be. 

Sterps.     Where,  where?     I  pray  thee,  show  me. 

Soc.    Here !  a  whole  troop  of  them  through  woods  and  hollows, 
A  bye-way  of  their  own. 

Sterps.  What  ails  my  eyes, 

That  I  can't  catch  a  glimpse  of  them? 

Soc.  Behold  1 

Here,  at  the  very  entrance. 

Streps.  Never  trust  me, 

If  yet  I  see  them  clearly. 

Soc.  Then  you  must  be 

Sand-blind,  or  worse. 

Streps.  Nay,  now  by  father  Jove, 

I  cannot  choose  but  see  them — precious  creatures  1 
For  in  good  faith  here's  plenty  and  to  spare. 

Enter  Chorus  of  Clouds. 

Soc.     And  didst  thou  doubt  if  they  were  goddesses  ? 

Streps.     Not  I,  so  help  me !   only  I'd  a  notion 
That  they  were  fog,  and  dew,  aud  dusky  vapor. 

Soc.    For  shame!     Why,  man,  these  are  the  nursing  mothers 
Of  all  our  famous  sophists,  fortune-tellers, 
Quacks,  med'cine-mongers,  bards  bombastical, 
Chorus  projectors,  star  interpreters, 
And  wonder-making  cheats.     The  gang  of  idlers, 
Who  pay  them  for  their  feeding  with  good  store 
Of  flattery  and  mouth-worship. 

Streps.  Now  I  see 

Whom  we  may  thank  for  driving  them  along 
At  such  a  furious  dithyrambic  rate, 
Sun-shadowing  clouds,  of  many-color'd  hues, 


444A.C.]  ARISTOPHANES.  371 

Air-rending  tempests,  hundred  headed  typhons,    , 
Now  rousing,  rattling  them  about  our  ears, 
Now  gently  wafting  them  adown  the  sky, 
Moist,  airy,  bending,  bursting  into  showers ; 
For  all  which  fine  descriptions,  these  poor  knaves 
Dine  daintily  on  scraps. 

Soc.  And  proper  fare: 

What  better  do  they  merit? 

Streps.  Under  favor, 

If  these  be  clouds,  (d'  you  mark  me  ?)  very  clouds, 
How  came  they  metamorphos'd  into  women? 
Clouds  are  not  such  as  these. 

Soc.  And  what  else  are  they  ? 

Streps.     Troth,*!  can't  rightly  tell,  but  I  should  guess 
Something  like  flakes  of  wool,  not  women,  sure : 
And  look!   these  dames  have  noses. 

Soc.  Hark  you  friend, 

Fll  put  a  question  to  you. 

Streps.  Out  with  it ! 

Be  quick:  let's  have  it. 

Soc.  This  it  is  in  short — 

Hast  thou  ne'er  seen  a  cloud,  which  thou  could'st  fancy 
Shap'd  like  a  centaur,  leopard,  wolf,  or  bull? 

Streps.     Yea,  marry  have  I,  and  what  then? 

Soc.  Why  then 

Clouds  can  assume  what  shape  they  will,  believe  me; 
For  instance :   should  they  spy  some  hairy  clown  " 
Rugged  and  rough,  and  Jike  the  unlick'd  cub 
Of  Xenophantes,  straight  they^turn  to  centaurs, 
And  kick  at  him  for  vengeance. 

Streps.  Well  done,  Clouds! 

But  should  they  spy  that  peculating  knave, 
Simon,  that  public  thief,  how  would  they  treat  him? 

Soc.     As  wolves — in  character  most  like  his  own. 

Streps.     Aye,  there  it  is  now,  when  they  saw  Cleonymus, 
That  dastard  runaway,  they  turn'd  to  hinds 
In  honor  of  his  cowardice. 

Soc.  And  now 

Having  seen  Cleisthenes,  to  mock  his  lewdness 
They  change  themselves  to  women. 

Streps.  Welcome,  ladies! 

Imperial  ladies  welcome !     An'  it  please 
Your  highnesses  so  far  to  grace  a  mortal, 
Give  me  a  touch  of  your  celestial  voices. 

Ch.     Hail,  grandsire,  who  at  this  late  hour  of  life 
Would  go  to  school  for  cunning;   and  all  hail, 
•  Thou  prince  pontifical  of  quirks  and  .quibbles, 
Speak  thy  full  mind,  make  known  thy  wants  and  wishes. 
Thee  and  our  worthy  Prodicus  excepted, 
Not  one  of  all  your  sophists  have  our  ear  : 
Him  for  his  wit  and  learning  we  esteem, 
Thee  for  thy  proud  deportment  and  high  looks, 


372  ARISTOPHANES.  [LECT.  XIV. 

In  barefoot  beggary  strutting  up  and  down, 
Content  to  suffer  mockery  for  our  sake, 
And  carry  a  grave  face  whilst  others  laugh. 

Streps.     Oh  !  mother  Earth,  was  ever  voice  like  this, 
So  reverend,  so  portentous,  so  divine  ! 

Soc.     These  are  your  only  deities,  all  else 
I  flout  at. 

The  Wasps  is,  doubtless,  one  of  the  most  perfect  of  the  plays  of  Aris- 
tophanes ;  and  it  is  so  closely  connected  with  the  Clouds,  that  it  is  impos- 
sible to  mistake  a  similarity  of  design  in  the  development  of  certain 
thoughts  in  each.  The  Clouds,  especially  in  its  original  form,  was  di- 
rected against  the  young  Athenians,  who  as  wrangjing  tricksters,  vexed 
the  simple  inoffensive  citizens  of  Athens  by  bringing  them  against  their 
will  into  the  law-courts.  The  Wasps  is  aimed  at  the  old  Athenians,  who 
took  their  seats  day  after  day  in  great  masses  as  judges,  and  being  com- 
pensated for  their  loss  of  time  by  the  judicial  fees  established  by  Pericles, 
gave  themselves  up  entirely  to  the  decision  of  the  causes,  which  had  be- 
come infinitely  multiplied  by  the  obligation  on  the  allies  to  try  their 
suits  at  Athens,  and  by  the  party  spirit  in  the  State  itself:  whereby  these 
old  people  had  acquired  far  too  surly  and  snarling  a  spirit,  to  the  great 
damage  of  the  accused. 

In  this  comedy  two  persons  are  directly  opposed  to  each  other — the  old 
Philocleon,  who  has  given  up  the  management  of  his  affairs  to  his  son, 
and  devoted  himself  entirely  to  his  office  of  judge,  paying  the  profoundest 
respect  to  Cleon — and  his  son  Bdelycleon,  who  has  a  horror  of  Cleon, 
and  of  the  severity  of  the  courts  in  general.  It  is  very  remarkable  how 
entirely  the  course  of  the  action  between  these  two  characters  corre- 
sponds to  that  in  the  Clouds,  so  that  we  can  hardly  mistake  the  intention 
of  Aristophanes  to  make  the  one  piece  the  counterpart  of  the  other.  The 
irony  of  fate,  which  the  aged  Strepsiades  experiences,  when  that  which 
had  been  the  greatest  object  of  his  wishes1,  namely,  to  have  his  son 
thoroughly  imbued  with  the  rhetorical  fluency  of  the  Sophists,  soon 
turns  out  to  be  the  greatest  misfortune  to  him — is  precisely  the  same 
with  the  irony  of  which  the  young  Bdelycleon  is  the  object  in  the  Wasps; 
for,  after  having  directed  all  his  efforts  towards  curing  his  father  of  his 
mania  for  the  profession  of  judge,  and  having  actually  succeeded  in  doing 
so,  partly  by  establishing  a  private  dicasterion  at  home,  and  partly  by 
recommending  to  him  the  charms  of  fashionable  luxurious  life,  he  soon 
bitterly  repents  of  the  metamorphosis  which  he  has  effected,  since  the 
old  man,  by  a  strange  mixture  of  his  old-fashioned  rude  manners  with  the 
luxury  of  the  day,  allows  his  dissoluteness  to  carry  him  much  farther 
than  Bdelycleon  had  either  expected  or  desired.  From  this  play  we 
deem  it  unnecessary  to  introduce  any  illustrative  extract. 

The  Peace,  the  next  of  Aristophanes'  comedies  in  order,  is,  in  its 


444  A.C.]  ARISTOPHANES.  373 

subject,  essentially  the  same  as  the  Acharnians,  except  that,  in  the  latter, 
peace  is  represented  as  the  wish  of  an  individual  only,  while  in  the  former 
it  is  wished  for  by  all.  In  the  Acharnians,  the  chorus  is  opposed  to  peace ; 
but  in  the  Peace,  it  is  composed  of  countrymen  of  Attica,  and  all  parts  of 
Greece,  who  are  full  of  longing  desire  for  peace.  It  must  be  allowed, 
however,  that  in  dramatic  interest  the  Acharnians  far  exceeds  that  of 
the  Peace,  the  latter  being  greatly  wanting  in  the  unity  of  a  strong  comic 
action.  It  must,  no  doubt,  have  been  highly  amusing  to  see  how  Try- 
gseus  ascends  to  heaven  on  the  back  of  an  entirely  new  sort  of  Pegasus — 
a  dung-beetle — and  there,  amidst  all  kinds  of  dangers,  in  spite  of  the 
rage  of  the  demon  of  war,  carries  off  the  goddess  Peace,  with  her  fair 
companions,  Harvesthome  and  Mayday.  But  the  sacrifice  on  account  of 
the  peace,  and  the  preparations  for  the  marriage  of  Trygseus  with  Har- 
vesthome, are  split  up  into  a  number  of  separate  scenes,  without  any 
direct  progress  of  the  action,  and  without  any  great  vigor  of  comic 
imagination.  It  is  also  very  obvious  that  Aristophanes  endeavors  to 
diminish  the  tediousness  of  these  scenes  by  some  of  those  loose  jokes, 
which  never  failed  to  produce  their  effect  on  the  common  people  of 
Athens.  The  following  simple  scene  from  this  play  is  extremely  beau- 
tiful : 

TRYGSEUS— CHORUS. 

Try.     Ever  lovely,  ever  dear, 
How  may  I  salute* thine  earl 
O  what  size-  of  words  may  tell 
Half  the  charms  that  in  thee  dwell  1 
la  thy  sight  are  joy  and  pleasure, 
^  Without  stint  and  without  measure. 

In  thy  breath  is  all  that  flings 
Sense  and  thought  of  choicest  things ; 
Dropping  odors — rosy  wine — 
Fragrant  spike  and  nard  divine. 

Ch.     Pipe  and  lute  and  dance  are  there, 
Tragic  pomp  and  stately  air: 
With  the  Sophoclean  strain, 
When  he's  in  his  noblest  vein. 
And  the  daintier  lays  that  please, 
Falling  from  Euripides. 

Try.     (interrupting.)    Out  upon  thee !    Fie  I  for  shame  1 
Vex  me  not  with  such  a  name ! 
Half  a  pleader — half  a  bard — 
How  may  such  win  her  regard  ? 

Ch.     0  she's  joy  and  recreation, 
Vintage  in  full  operation, 
Vat  and  cask  in  requisition, 
Strainer  making  inquisition 
For  the  new-press'd  grape  and  wine, 
What  is  foul  and  what  is  fine  1 


374  ARISTOPHANES.  [LKCT  XIV 

Round  meantime  the  fleecy  brood 
Clamor  for  their  fragrant  food; 
Which  by  village  dame  or  maid — 
Bosom-laden — is  convey'd. 
Thus  without ;   while  all  within 
Marks  the  harvest's  jovial  din  ; 
Hand  to  hand  the  goblets  flying, 
Or  in  sweet  disorder  lying ; 
Serf  and  master,  slave  and  free 
Joining  in  the  gladsome  glee 
Of  a  general  jollity. 
These  and  thousand  blessings  more 
Peace  hath  ever  yet  in  store. 

The  Amphiaraus  did  not  appear  until  six  years  after  the  representa- 
tion of  the  Peace ;  the  plays,  therefore,  of  Aristophanes,  written  during 
this  period  must  now  be  lost.  The  object  of  this  comedy  was  to  discour 
age  the  disastrous  Sicilian  expedition.  It  was  named  after  one  of  the 
seven  chiefs  against  Thebes,'  remarkable  for  prophesying  ill-luck  to  the 
expedition,  and  in  that  particular  corresponding  to  the  character  of  Nicias. 

The  Birds  was  brought  out  414  A.C. — the  same  year  in  which  the  Am- 
phiaraus appeared,  and  in  this  play  Aristophanes  exhibits  all  the  variety 
of  his  comic  genius.  If  the  Acharnians,  therefore,  may  be  regarded  as  a 
specimen  of  the  youthful  vigor  of  the  poet,  in  the  Birds  that  vigor  is  dis- 
played in  all  its  splendor,  and  with  a  style,  in  which  a  proud  flight  of 
imagination  is  united  with  the  coarsest  jocularity,  and  the  most  genial 
humor. 

The  object  of  the  Birds  has  been  much  disputed  among  critics. 
Schlegel  considers  it  a  mere  fanciful  piece  of  buffoonery — a  supposition 
hardly  credible,  when  we  remember  that  every  one  of  the  plays  of  Aris- 
tophanes has  a  distinct  purpose  connected  with  the  history  of  the  times. 
The  Birds,  doubtless,  represent  the  Athenian  people,  who  are  persuaded 
to  bui\d  a  city  in  the  clouds  by  Peisthetaerus — a  character  combining 
traits  of  Alcibiades  and  Gorgias,  mixed,  perhaps,  with  some  from  other 
sophists — and  who  is  attended  by  a  sort  of  Sancho  Panza,  one  Euelpides, 
designed  to  represent  the  credulous  young  Athenians.  The  city,  to  be 
called  -Cloudcuckootown,  is  to  occupy  the  whole  horizon,  and  to  cut  off 
the  gods  from  all  connection  with  mankind,  and  even  from  the  power  of 
receiving  sacrifices,  so  as  to  force  them  ultimately  to  surrender  at  discre- 
tion to  the  birds.  All  this  scheme,  and  the  details  which  fill  it  up,  coin- 
cide admirably  with  the  Sicilian  expedition,  which  was  designed  not  only 
to  take  possession  of  Sicily,  but  afterwards  to  conquer  Carthage  and 
Libya,  and  so,  from  the  supremacy  of  the  Mediterranean,  to  acquire  that 
of  the  Peloponnesus,  and  reduce  the  Spartans — the  gods  of  the  play. 
The  plan  succeeds :  the  gods  send  ambassadors  to  demand  terms,  and 
finally  Peisthetserus  marries  Basileia,.  the  daughter  of  Jupiter.  The  poet 


444A.C.]  ARISTOPHANES.  3T5 

does  not,  however,  limit  himself  to  this  object,  but  often  touches  on  other 
points,  and  sometimes  indulges  in  pure  humor  to  an  extent  that  forcibly 
reminds  us  of  the  scheme  of  Gulliver's  Travels. 

Of  the  following  Parabasis  the  merits  are  well  known ;  and  perhaps  no 
other  passage  of  Aristophanes  has  been  so  often  quoted  with  admiration  • 

Ye  children  of  man,  whose  life  is  a  span, 

Protracted  with  sorrow  from  day  to  day, 

Naked  and  featherless,  feeble  and  querulous, 

Sickly,  calamitous  creatures  of  clay ! 

Attend  to  the  words  of  the  sovereign  birds, 

(Immortal,  illustrious,  lords  of  the  air,) 

Who  survey  from  on  high,  with  a  merciful  eye, 

Your  struggles  of  misery,  labor  and  care. 

Whence  you  may  learn  and  clearly  discern 

Such  truths  as  attract  your  inquisitive  turn; 

Which  is  busied  of  late  with  a  mighty  debate, 

A  profound  speculation  about  the  creation, 

An  organical  life,  and  chaotical  strife, 

With  various  notions  of  heavenly  motions, 

And  rivers  and  oceans,  and  valleys  and  mountains, 

And  sources  of  fountains,  and  meteors  on  high, 

And  stars  in  the  sky.     We  propose  by-and-bye, 

(If  you'll  listen  and  hear)  to  make  it  all  clear, 

And  Prodicus  henceforth  shall  pass  for  a  dunce 

When  his  doubts  are  explained  and  expounded  at  once. 

Before  the  creation  of  ^Ether  and  Light, 
Chaos  and  Night  together  were  plight, 
In  the  dungeon  of  Erebus  foully  bedight; 
Nor  Ocean  or  Air,  or  Substance  was  there, 
Or  Solid  or  Rare,  or  Figure  or  Form, 
But  horrible  Tartarus  ruled  in  the  storm. 
At  length,  in  the  dreary  chaotical  closet 
Of  Erebus  old,  was  a  privy  deposit, 
By  night  the  primeval  in  secrecy  laid  ; 
A  mystical  egg,  that  in  silence  and  shade 
Was  brooded  and  hatched ;  till  time  came  about : 
And  Love,  the  delightful,  in  glory  flew  out, 
In  rapture  and  light,  exulting  and  bright, 
Sparkling  and  florid,  with  stars  on  his  forehead, 
His  forehead  and  hair,  and  a  flutter  and  flare, 
As  he  rose  in  the  air,  triumphantly  furnish'd, 
To  range  his  dominions,  on  glittering  pinions, 
And  golden  and  azure,  and  blooming  and  burnish'd. 

He  soon  in  the  murky  Tartarean  recesses, 
With  a  hurricane's  might,  in  his  fiery  caresses, 
Impregnated  Chaos;   and  hastily  snatch'd 
To  being  and  life,  begotten  and  hatch'd, 
The  primitive  Birds :   But  the  Deities  all, 
The  celestial  Lights,  the  terrestrial  Ball 
Were  later  of  birth,  with  the  dwellers  on  earth, 


376  ARISTOPHANES.  [LECT.  XIV. 

More  tamely  combin'd,  of  a  temperate  kind, 
When  chaotical  mixture  approach'd  to  a  fixture. 
Our  antiquity  prov'd;  it  remains  to  be  shown 
That  Love  is  our  author  and  master  alone ; 
Like  him  we  can  ramble,  and  gambol,  and  fly 
O'er  ocean  and  earth,  and  aloft  to  the  sky : 
And  all  the  world  over  we're  friends  to  the  lover, 
And  when  other  means  fail,  we  are  found  to  prevail, 
When  a  peacock  or  pheasant  is  sent  for  a  present. 


THE  CITY  OF  THE  CLOUDS. 
Enter  a  MESSENGER,  out  of  breath,  and  speaking  in  short  snatches. 

Mess.    Where  is  he  ?   where  ?   where  is  he  ?  where  ?  where  is  he  ? 
The  president,  Peisthetserus  ? 

Peis.    (Coolly.)     Here  am  I. 

Mess.     Your  fortification's  finished. 

Peis.    Well!  that's  well. 

Mess.     A  most  amazing,  astonishing  work  it  is  1 
So  that  Theagines  and  Proxenides 
Might  flourish,  and  gasconade,  and  prance  away, 
Quite  at  their  ease,  both  of  them  four  in  hand,  - 
Driving  abreast  upon  the  breadth  of  the  wall, 
Each  in  his  own  new  chariot. 

Peis.     You  surprise  me. 

Mess.     And  the  height  (for  I  made  measurement  myself ) 
Is  just  a  hundred  fathom. 

Peis.  Heaven  and  earth! 

How  could  it  be  ?     Such  a  mass !     Who  could  have  built  it  ? 

Mess.     The  Birds ;   no  creatures  else,  no  foreigners, 
Egyptian  workmen,  bricklayers,  or  masons, 
But  they  themselves  alone,  by  their  own  efforts; 
(Even  to  my  surprise,  as  an  eye-witness,) — 
The  Birds,  I  say,  completed  every  thing. 

There  came  a  body  of  thirty  thousand  cranes, 
(I  wont  to  be  positive,  there  might  be  more,) 
With  stones  from  Africa,  in  their  craws  and  gizzards, 
Which  the  stone-curlews  and  stone-chatterers 
Work'd  into  shape  and  finish'd.     The  sand-martins, 
And  mud-larks,  too,  were  busy  in  their  department, 
Mixing  the  mortar,  while  the  water-birds, 
As  fast  as  it  was  wanted,  brought  the  water 
To  temper  and  work  it. 

Peis.     (In  a  fidget.}     But  who  served  the  masons  ? 
Whom  did  you  get  to  carry  it  ? 

Mess.  To  carry  it? 

Of  course,  the  carrion-crows  and  carrier-pigeons. 

A  brief  notice  of  the  remaining  dramas  of  Aristophanes,  will  close  our 
present  remarks. 


444A.C.]  ARISTOPHANES.  .        377 

The  Lysistrata  is  the  coarsest  of  the  Aristophanic  comedies.  In  it 
the  author  returns  to  the  old  subject  of  the  Peloponnesian  war,  and  here 
we  find  miseries  described  as  actually  existing,  which,  in  the  Acharnians 
and  Peace,  had  only  been  predicted.  A  treaty  is  finally  represented  as 
brought  about  through  the  influence  of  Lysistrata  and  her  female  asso- 
ciates. 

The  Thesmophoriazusee  derives  its  title  from  the  Thesmophoria,  or 
feast  of  Ceres  and  Proserpine,  at  which  women  alone  were  present.  It 
is  the  first  of  the  two  great  attacks  on  Euripides,  and  contains  some  in- 
imitable parodies  on  his  plays,  especially  the  Andromeda,  which  had 
just  at  that  time  been  brought  upon  the  stage.  The  play  is  almost 
wholly  free  from  political  allusions ;  but  the  few  which  are  found  in  it 
show  the  attachment  of  the  poet  to  the  old  democracy,  and  that,  though 
a  strong  conservative,  he  was  not  an  oligarchist. 

Both  the  Plutus  and  the  Ecclesiazusae  are  designed  to  divert  the  pre- 
vailing mania  for  Dorian  manners — the  latter  ridiculing  the  political 
theories  of  Plato,  which  were  entirely  based  on  Spartan  institutions.  It 
was  also  intended  as  a  warning  to  all  restless  innovators,  to  beware  how 
they  endangered,  by  fanciful  reforms,  the  integrity  of  the  Athenian  insti- 
tutions. The  Plutus  is  an  allegorical  satire  upon  a  class,  not  upon  in- 
dividuals; and,  as  Addison  has  well  remarked,  it  conveys  two  important 
moral  lessons  : — it  vindicates  the  conduct  of  Providence  in  the  distribu- 
tion of  wealth,  and  shows  the  tendency  of  riches  to  corrupt  the  morals  of 
those  who  possess  them. 

The  Frogs,  the  last  of  Aristophanes'  dramas  that  we  design  to  notice 
particularly,  is  a  literary  criticism  of  the  highest  order  of  merit.  The 
idea  on  which  it  is  based  is  grand  in  the  extreme,  Bacchus,  the  god  of 
the  Attic  stage,  here  represented  as  a  young  Athenian  fox,  who  an- 
nounces himself  as  a  connoisseur  of  tragedies,  is  much  distressed  at  the 
great  deficiency  of  tragic  poets  after  the  death  of  Euripides  aud  Sophocles, 
and  is  resolved  to  go  and  bring  up  a  tragedian  from  the  other  world — if 
possible  Euripides.  He  gets  Charon  to"  ferry  him  over  the  pool  which 
forms  the  boundary  of  the  infernal  regions,  and  arrives,  after  various  ad- 
ventures, at  the  place  where  the  chorus  of  the  happy  souls  who  have 
been  initiated  into  the  mysteries  perform  their  songs  and  dances.  It  so 
happens  that  a  strife  has  arisen  in  the  subterranean  world  between  .ZEschy- 
lus,  who  has  hitherto  occupied  the  tragic  throne,  and  the  newly-arrived 
Euripides,  who  lays  claim  to  it ;  and  Bacchus  connects  this  with  his  own 
plan  by  promising  to  take  with  him  to  the  upper  regions  the  one  who  gains 
the  victory  in  this  contest. 

The  contest  which  ensues  is  a  peculiar  mixture  of  jest  and  earnest — 
extending  over  every  department  of  tragic  art — the  subject-matter  and 


378  ARISTOPHANES.  [LECT.  XIV. 

moral  effects,  the  style  and  execution,  prologues,  choral  songs,  and  mono- 
dies, and  often,  though  in  a  very  comic  manner,  hits  the  right  point.  At 
the  end  of  the  play  the  two  tragedians  proceed  to  weigh  their  verses, 
when  the  powerful  sayings  of  ^Eschylus  make  the  pointed  thoughts  of 
Euripides  kick  the  beam ;  and  to  add  to  Euripides'  mortification,  So- 
phocles is  left  to  occupy  the  vacant  tragic  throne  in  Hades  during 
.^Eschylus'  visit  to  earth.  The  choral  songs  and  odes  with  which  this 
comedy  abounds,  are  amongst  the  very  gems  of  Aristophanic  poetry. 

The  dramas  which  Aristophanes  produced  after  the  close  of  the  Pe 
loponnesian  war,  plainly  indicate  the  commencement  of  the  transition 
which  so  soon  followed  from  the  Old  to  the  Middle  Comedy ;  and  hav- 
ing now  closed  our  remarks  upon  the  former,  to  the  latter  our  attention 
will  next  be  directed. 


Knhn  tyt  jfiftnntfr. 


THE  MIDDLE  COMEDY.— PHILIPPUS.— EUBULUS.— ANAXANDRIDES.— AN- 
TIPHANES.  —  ARISTOPHOtf .  —  CLEARCHUS.  —  DIODORUS.  —  EPHIPPUS.— 
EPICR  ATES.  —  ERIPHUS.  — MNESIMACHUS.  —  STRATON.  —  MOSCHION.— 
NICOSTRATUS.  —  ALEXtS.— SOTADES.— THEOPHILUS.— TIMOCLES.— THE 
NEW  COMEDY.— MENANDER.— PHILEMON.— DIPHILUS.— APOLLODORUS. 
PHILIPPIDES.— POSIDIPPUS. 


~\T.7"HILE,  as  we  have  seen,  the  characteristic  feature  of  the  Old 
V  V  Comedy  was  personality,  that  of  the  Middle  Comedy  was  philosoph- 
ical and  literary  criticism,  and  an  attack  upon  the  vices  and  follies  of  classes, 
rather  than  of  individuals.  Hence,  the  transition  to  the  latter  is  easier 
from  the  Sicilian  comedy  of  Epicharmus,  than  from  the  Attic  comedy  of 
Aristophanes,  who  appears  entirely  unlike  himself  in  the  ^Eolosicon,  and 
in  his  other  plays  which  were  written  in  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  and 
which  approximate  in  their  form  to  the  middle  comedy. 

The  democracy  of  Athens  was  still  moving  in  unrestrained  freedom, 
but  the  people  had  no  longer  such  pride  and  confidence  in  themselves  as 
to  ridicule,  from  the  stage,  their  rulers,  and  the  recognized  principles  of 
State  policy,  and  at  the  same  time  to  prevent  themselves  from  being  led 
astray  by  such  ridicule.  The  unfortunate  termination  of  the  Peloponne- 
sian  war  had  damped  the  first  fresh  vigor  of  the  Athenian  State.  Free- 
dom and  democracy,  it  is  true,  had  been  restored  to  the  Athenians,  and 
even  a  sort  of  maritime  supremacy ;  but  their  former  energy  of  public 
life  had  not  been  restored  along  with  them  :  there  were  too  many  weak- 
nesses and  defects  in  all  parts  of  their  political  condition — in  their 
finances,  in  the  war  department,  and  in  the  law-courts.  The  Athenians 
were,  perhaps,  well  aware  of  this,  but  they  were  too  indolent  and  fond  of 
pleasure  to  set  about  in  earnest  to  free  themselves  from  these  incon- 
veniences. Under  such  circumstances,  satire  and  ridicule,  such  as  Aris- 
tophanes indulged  in,  would  have  been  quite  intolerable ;  for  it  would  no 
longer  have  pointed  out  certain  shadows  in  a  bright  and  glorious  picture, 
but  would  have  exhibited  one  dark  picture  without  a  single  ray  of  light, 
and  consequently  would  have  lacked  all  the  cheerfulness  of  comedy.  Ac- 
cordingly, the  comedians  of  this  period  took  that  general  moral  ten- 


380  THE    MIDDLE    COMEDY.  [LEOT.  XV. 

dency  which  we  have  already  noticed  in  the  Sicilian  comedy,  and  in  all 
that  was  connected  with  it.  They  represented  the  ludicrous  absurdities 
of  certain  classes  and  conditions  in  society,  and  in  their  diction  kept  close 
to  the  language  of  common  life,  which  prevails  much  more  uniformly  in 
their  plays,  than  in  those  of  Aristophanes. 

The  dramas  of  these  comedians  were  not  altogether  without  a  basis 
of  personal  satire ;  but  this  was  no  longer  directed  against  influential 
men,  the  rulers  of  the  people ;  or,  if  it  touched  them  at  all,  it  was  not  on 
account  of  their  political  character,  or  of  any  principles  approved  by  the 
bulk  of  the  people.  On  the  contrary,  the  middle  comedy  cultivated  a 
narrower  field  of  its  own — the  department  of  literary  rivalship.  The 
dramas  of  the  middle  comedy  were  rich  in  ridicule  of  the  Platonic 
Academy,  of  the  newly-revived  sect  of  the  Pythagoreans,  of  the  orators 
and  rhetoricians  of  the  day,  and  of  the  tragic  and  epic  poets  :  they  some- 
times even  took  a  retrospective  view,  and  subjected  to  their  criticism 
anything  which  they  thought  weak  or  imperfect  in  the  poems  of  Homer. 
This  criticism  was,  however,  totally  diflerent  from  that  directed  by  Aris- 
tophanes against  Socrates,  which  was  founded  exclusively  upon  moral  and 
practical  views.  The  judgments  of  the  middle  comedy  considered  every- 
thing in  a  literary  point  of  view,  and,  if  we  may  reason  from  individual 
instances,  were  directed  solely  against  the  character  of  the  writings  of  the 
persons  criticised. 

In  the  transition  from  the  old  to  the  middle  comedy,  we  may  discern 
at  once  the  great  revolution  which  had  taken  place  in  the  domestic  history 
of  Athens,  when  the  Athenians,  from  a  community  of  politicians,  be- 
came a  nation  of  literary  men — when,  instead  of  pronouncing  judgment 
upon  the  general  politics  of  Greece,  and  the  law-suits  of  their  allies,  they 
judged  only  of  the  genuineness  of  the  Attic  style  and  of  good  taste  in 
oratory — when  it  was  no  longer  the  opposition  of  the  political  ideas  of 
Themistocles  and  Cimon,  but  the  contests  of  opposing  schools  of  philoso- 
phers and  rhetoricians,  which  set  all  heads  in  motion.  This  great  change, 
it  is  true,  was  not  fully  accomplished  till  the  time  of  Alexander's  suc- 
cesses, but  the  middle  comedy  stands  as  a  guide-post,  clearly  pointing  out 
the  way  to  its  consummation.  The  frequency  of  mythical  subjects  in  the 
comedies  of  this  class,  has  the  same  grounds  as  in  the  Sicilian  comedy ; 
for  the  object  of  both  was  to  clothe  general  delineations  of  character  in 
a  mythical  form.  Farther  than  this,  we  must  confess  that  our  concep- 
tions of  the  middle  comedy  are  somewhat  indistinct  and  uncertain.  This 
arises  from  the  constitution  of  the  middle  comedy  itself,  which  is  rather 
a  transition  state  than  a  distinct  species.  Consequently,  we  find,  along 
with  many  features  recommending  the  old  comedy,  also  some  peculiarities 
of  the  new.  Aristotle,  indeed,  in  his  remarks  upon  the  comic  drama  of 
Athens,  speaks  only  of  an  Old  and  a  New  Comedy,  without  reference  to 
any  other. 


400A.C.]  EUBULUS.  381 

The  poets  of  the  Middle  Comedy  are  very  numerous,  and  occupy  the 
interval  between  380  A.C.  and  the  reign  of  Alexander  the  Great — a 
space  of  forty-four  years.  Of  the  earliest  to  be  noticed  are  the  two  sons 
of  Aristophanes,  Araros  and  Phitippus,  and  the  prolific  Eubulus.  Of 
the  dramas  of  Araros  nothing  now  remains,  and  of  those  of  Philippus,  or, 
as  he  is  sometimes  called,  Nicostratus,  we  have  only  the  following  brief 
fragment : 


LOQUACITY. 


If  in  prattling  from  morning  till  night 
A  sign  of  our  wisdom  there  be, 

The  swallows  are  wiser  by  right, 

For  they  prattle  much  faster  than  we. 


Eubulus,  the  son  of  Euphranor,  was  of  Athenian  ancestry,  though 
born  at  Atarna  in  the  island  of  Lesbos.  He  commenced  his  career  as  a 
comic  writer,  according  to  Suidas  376  A.C.,  and  continued  to  exhibit 
comedies  regularly  until  just  before  the  middle  comecly  was  superseded 
by  the  new.  He  was  the  author  of  one  hundred  and  four  comedies,  of 
more  than  fifty  of  which  the  titles  are  still  preserved.  The  subjects  of 
his  plays  were  chiefly  mythological;  and  several  of  them  contained  paro- 
dies of  passages  from  the  tragic  poets,  and  especially  from  Euripides. 
There  are  a  few  instances  of  his  attacking,  after  the  manner  of  the  old 
comedy,  eminent  individuals  by  name ;  as  Philocrates,  Gydias,  Callime- 
don,  Dionysius  the  tyrant  of  Syracuse,  and  Callistratus.  Occasionally 
his  ridicule  embraces  whole  classes  and  communities  of  persons,  as,  in 
one  of  his  plays,  the  Thebans. 

The  language  of  Eubulus  is  simple,  elegant,  and  generally  pure,  con- 
taining few  words  which  are  not  found  in  writers  of  the  best  period.  Not 
many  fragments  of  this  poet  have  been  preserved;  but  those  which  we 
have  are  of  very  rare  merit.  In  his  comedy  of  the  Cup-bearers  he  intro- 
duces Bacchus  in  person  laying  down  to  mankind  the  following  temperate 
and  moral  rules  against  the  abuse  of  his  blessings : 

Three  cups  of  wine  a  prudent  man  may  take; 
The  first  of  these  for  constitution's  sake ; 
The  second  to  the  girl  he  loves  the  best ; 
The  third  and  last  to  lull  him  to  his  rest: 
Then  home  to  bed.    But  if  a  fourth  he  pours, 
That  is   the  cup  of  folly  and  not  ours; 
Loud  noisy  talking  on  the  fifth  attends ; 
The  sixth  breeds  feuds  and  falling  out  of  friends ; 
Seven  begets  blows,  and  faces  stain'd  with  gore ; 
Eight,  and  the  watch-patrole  breaks  ope  the  door;  • 
Mad  with  the  ninth,  another  cup  goes  round, 
And  the  swill'd  sot  drops  senseless  to  the  ground. 


382  ANAXANDRIDES.  rLEcr.X\. 

When  such  maxims  of  moderation  as  these  proceed  from  the  lips  of 
Bacchus  himself,  it  argues  great  impiety  in  his  votaries  not  to  obey  them. 

The  following  ingenious  turn  upon  the  emblem  of  Love,  addressed  to  a 
painter,  is  so  exquisite,  that  the  most  elegant  epigrammatist  might  be 
proud  of  it : 

Why,  foolish  painter,  give  those  wings  to  Love? 
Love  is  not  light,  as  my  sad  heart  can  prove: 
Love  hath  no  wings,  or  none  that  I  can  see: 
If  he  can  fly,  oh  1   bid  him  fly  from  me ! 

Anaxandrides  follows  Eubulus,  and  he  is  said  to  have  been  the  first  to 
introduce  into  comedy  the  intrigues  of  love,  which  afterwards  formed  so 
large  an  ingredient  in  it.  To  him  succeeded  Amphis,  Anaxilaus.  Ax- 
wnicus,  Chceremon,  and  Baton.  These  are  followed  by  Antiphones, 
Aristophon,  Clearchus,  Criton,  Crobylus,  Demetrius,  Damoxenus,  Diodo- 
rus,  Ephippus,  Dionysius  of  Sinope,  Dionysius  of  Syracuse  and  Epicra- 
tes. 

Anaxandrides  was  the  son  of  Anaxander  of  Khodes,  and  was  the  author 
of  sixty-five  comedies,  with  ten  of  which  he  bore  away  the  prizes  from  his 
competitors.  Nature,  according  to  Athenseus,  bestowed  upon  this  poet, 
not  only  a  fine  genius,  but  a  most  beautiful  person.  His  stature  was  tall, 
his  air  elegant  and  engaging ;  and  whilst  he  affected  an  effeminate  deli- 
cacy in  his  habit  and  appearance,  he  was  a  victim  to  the  most  violent  and 
uncontrollable  passions,  which,  whenever  he  was  disappointed  of  the  prize 
he  contended  for,  were  vented  upon  every  person  and  thing  that  fell  in 
his  way,  not  excepting  even  his  own  unfortunate  dramas,  which  he  would 
tear  in  pieces  and  scatter  amongst  the  mob.  Of  these  he  would  preserve 
no  copy,  and  thus  it  came  to  pass  that  many  admirable  comedies  were 
actually  destroyed  and  lost  to  posterity. 

The  dress  of  Anaxandrides,  according  to  the  same  authority,  was  splen- 
did and  extravagant  in  the  extreme,  being  of  the  finest  purple,  richly 
fringed  with  gold  ;  and  his  hair  was  not  coiled  up  in  the  Athenian  fash- 
ion, but  suffered  to  fall  over  his  shoulders  at  its  full  length.  His  muse 
was  no  less  wanton  and  voluptuous  than  his  manners ;  for,  as  we  have 
already  intimated,  he  was  the  first  comic  poet  who  ventured  to  introduce 
upon  the  stage,  incidents  of  the  grossest  intrigue.  He  was  not  only  se- 
vere upon  Plato  and  the  Academy,  but  attacked  the  magistracy  of  Athens, 
charging  them  with  the  depravity  of  their  lives,  in  so  daring  and  con- 
temptuous a  style,  that  they  brought  him  to  trial,  and  by  one  of  the  most 
cruel  sentences  upon  record,  condemned  the  unhappy  poet  to  be  starved 
to  death.  To  this  circumstance  Ovid  alludes  in  the  following  distich : — 

Or  meet  the  libeller's  unpitied  fate, 
Starved  for  traducing  the  Athenian  state. 


375  A.C.]  MIDDLE    COMEDY    POETS.  383 

The  following  lines  on  Old  Age,  afford  the  only  connected  fragment 
of  Anaxandrides'  poetry  with  which  we  are  acquainted : 

Ye  gods !   how  easily  the  good  man  bears 

His  cumbrous  honors  of  increasing  years. 

Age,  oh  my  father,  is  not,  as  they  say, 

A  load  of  evils  heap'd  on  mortal  clay, 

Unless  impatient  folly  aids  the  curse, 

And  weak  lamenting  makes  our  sorrows  worse. 

He  whose  soft  soul,  whose  temper  ever  even, 

Whose  habits,  placid  as  a  cloudless  heaven, 

Approve  the  partial  blessings  of  the  sky, 

Smooths  the  rough  road,  and  walks  untroubled  by ; 

Untimely  wrinkles  furrow  not  his  brow, 

And  graceful  wave  his  locks  of  reverend  snow. 


Of  Amphis  little  more  is  known  than  that  he  was  a  contemporary  of 
the  philosopher  Plato,  whom  he  made  the  butt  of  his  wit  and  ridicule. 
A  reference  in  one  of  his  plays  to  Phryne,  the  Thespian,  proves  that  he 
was  still  living  332  A.C.  We  have  the  titles  of  twenty-six  of  his  com- 
edies, but  the  few  fragments  of  his  poetry  that  remain  afford  no  just  cri- 
terion for  judging  of  his  peculiar  genius.  In  his  own  age,  however,  he 
was  greatly  admired. 

Anaxilaus  was  a  native  of  Athens,  and  was  also  a  contemporary  of 
Plato,  whom  he  satirized  in  one  of  his  plays,  with  the  greatest  severity. 
A  few  unimportant  fragments,  and  the  titles  of  nineteen  of  his  comedies 
remain,  eight  of  which  are  on  mythological  subjects. 

Of  Axionicus  nothing  farther  is  known  than  that  he  was  a  native  Athe- 
nian, and  a  writer  of  high  reputation  in  his  day.  Athenaeus  has  preserved 
the  titles  of  six  of  his  comedies,  and  some  unimportant  fragments. 

Chseremon  is  so  differently  noticed  by  different  writers  of  antiquity, 
that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  assign  him  his  proper  place.  By  some  he 
is  represented  as  the  disciple  of  Socrates,  and  a  writer  of  tragedies ; 
whilst  others  assign  him  to  the  Old  Comedy.  Aristotle,  Athenaeus,  Sui- 
das,  Stobseus,  Theophrastus,  and  others,  assign  him,  however,  to  the 
Middle  Comedy,  and  speak  of  him  in  terms  of  unlimited  praise.  The 
titles  of  Line  of  his  comedies,  with  some  scraps  of  his  dialogue,  have  been, 
preserved  by  these  authors;  and  Aristotle  relates  that  in  his  comedy  of 
The  Hippocentaur  he  introduced  a  rhapsody,  in  which  he  contrived  to 
mingle  every  species  of  meter,  inventing,  as  it  would  seem,  a  character- 
istic measure  for  a  compound  monster  out  of  nature. 

Of   Baton,  to  whom  Suidas  repeatedly  alludes,  no  historical  records 


384  ANTIPHANES.  [LECT.  XV. 

whatever  have  been  preserved.     A  few  fragments  of  his  comedies,  with 
three  of  their  titles,  is  all  of  him  that  we  now  possess. 

Antiphanes  was  one  of  the  earliest  and  most  celebrated  Athenian  poets 
of  the  Middle  Comedy.  He  was  born,  according  to  Suidas,  at  Smyrna, 
in  Ionia,  404  A.C.,  and  lived  till  330  A.C. — seventy-four  years.  His 
first  comedy  was  exhibited  383  A.C.,  when  the  poet  had  just  reached  the 
twenty-first  year  of  his  age. 

The  parentage  of  Antiphanes  is  very  doubtful ;  though  it  is  generally 
conceded  that  he  was  of  low  origin.  His  father's  name  was  Demophanes, 
or  Stephanus;  probably  the  latter,  since  he  had  a  son  named  Stephanus, 
in  accordance  with  an  Athenian  custom  of  naming  a  child  after  his  grand- 
father. But  whatever  may  have  been  the  condition  of  Antiphanes'  pa- 
rents, yet  the  poet  so  signalized  himself  by  his  genius,  and  was  held  in 
such  respect  by  the  Athenians,  that  a  public  decree  was  made  for  the  re- 
moval of  his  remains  from  the  isle  of  Chios,  where  he  died,  and  for  depos- 
iting them  in  the  city  of  Athens,  where  his  funeral  honors  were  sumptu- 
ously performed  at  the  charge  of  the  State. 

Of  the  number  of  Antiphanes'  comedies  various  accounts  have  been 
given ;  but  of  all  the  Greek  dramatic  writers  he  appears  to  have  been  the 
most  prolific ;  for  the  lowest  list  of  his  plays  amounts  to  two  hundred  and 
ninety,  and  some  contend  that  he  actually  composed  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five,  a  number  almost  incredible.  With  thirty  of  his  comedies  he 
bore  off  the  prize ;  and  if  those  successes  appear  disproportioned  to  the 
number  of  his  attempts,  we  must  remember  that  many  of  his  rivals  were 
poets  of  the  highest  order  of  genius.  To  judge  of  the  absolute  merits  of 
this  voluminous  writer,  we  have  now  no  other  means  than  the  fragments 
of  his  dramas  that  have  descended  to  us ;  and  even  these  we  cannot  con- 
template without  a  sensible  regret  that  so  few  amongst  them  comprise 
my  such  portion  of  the  dialogue  as  to  open  the  character,  style,  and  man- 
ners of  the  writer,  and  not  often  enough  to  furnish  a  conjecture  at  the 
fable  to  which  they  appertain.  They  are  like  small  crevices  letting  in 
one  feeble  ray  of  light  into  a  capacious  building :  they  dart  occasionally 
upon  some  rich  and  noble  part,  but  they  cannot  convey  to  us  a  full  and 
perfect  idea  of  the  symmetry  and  construction  of  the  majestic  whole. 

Of  the  numerqus  comedies  of  Antiphanes,  the  titles  of  one  hundred 
and  thirty  have  been  preserved.  Two  of  these, — one  entitled  Matri- 
mony, and  the  other  The  Nuptials, — are  severe  satires  upon  woman. 
To  one  or  the  other  of  these  comedies,  the  following  animated  strain 
doubtless  belonged : 

For  this,  and  only  this.  111  trust  a  woman, 
That  if  you  take  life  from  her  she  will  die, 
And  being  dead  she'll  come  to  life  no  more ; 
In  all  things  else  I  am  an  infidel 


370A.C.]  ANTIPHANES.  385 

0  might  I  never  more  behold  a  woman ! 
Rather  than  I  should  meet  that  object,  gods  1 
Strike  out  my  eyes — I'll  thank  you  for  your  mercy. 

To  Athenaeus  we  are  indebted  for  the  following  fragment  of  a  dialogue, 
in  which  Antiphanes  has  introduced  a  traveller  to  relate  a  whimsical  con- 
trivance, which  the  king  of  Cyprus  had  made  use  of  for  cooling  the  air  of 
his  banqueting  chamber,  while  he  sat  at  supper  : 

A.  You  say  you've  passed  much  of  your  time  in  Cyprus. 

B.  All ;   for  the  war  prevented  my  departure. 
.A.     In  what  place  chiefly,  may  I  ask? 

B.    In  Paphos; 

Where  I  saw  elegance  in  such  perfection 
As  almost  mocks  belief. 

A+    Of  what  kind,  pray  you? 

B.    Take  this  for  one — the  monarch,  when  he  sups, 
Is  fanned  by  living  doves. 
•  A.     You  make  me  curious 

How  this  is  to  be  done ;  all  other  questions 
I  will  put  by  to  be  resolved  in  this. 

B.    There  is  a  juice  drawn  from  the  carpin  tree, 
To  which  your  dove  instinctively  is  wedded 
With  almost  loving  appetite ;   with  this 
The  king  anoints  his  temples,  and  the  odor 
No  sooner  captivates  the  silly  birds,  • 

Than  straight  they  flutter  round  him, — nay,  would  fly 
A  bolder  pitch,  so  strong  a  love-charm  draws  them, 
And  perch,  O  horror  !   on  his  sacred  crown, 
If  that  such  profanation  were  permitted 
Of  the  bystanders,  who,  with  reverend  care, 
Fright  them  away,  till  thus,  retreating  now, 
4    And  now  advancing,  they  keep  such  a  coil 
With  their  broad  vans,  and  beat  the  lazy  air 
Into  so  quick  a  stir,  that  in  the  conflict 
His  royal  lungs  are  comfortably  bool'd, 
And  thus  he  sups  as  Paphian  monarchs  should. 

The  following  raillery  from  a  servant  of  his  master,  for  a  species  of 
hypocrisy  natural  to  old  age,  is  certainly  very  comic  : 

Ah,  good  my  master,  you  may  sigh  for  death, 
And  call  amain  upon  him  to  relieve  you, 
But  will  you  bid  him  welcome  when  he  comes  ? 
Not  you.  Old  Charon  has  a  stubborn  task 
To  tug  you  to  his  wherry  and  dislodge  you 
From  your  rich  tables,  when  your  hour  is  come : 
I  muse  the  gods  send  not  a  plague  amongst  you, 
A  good,  brisk,  sweeping  epidemic  plague : 
There's  nothing  else  can  make  you  all  immortal 

25 


386  ANTIPHANES.  [LECT.  XV. 

The  following  brief  passages  have  an  exceedingly  neat  turn  of  express- 
ion in  the  original ;  and  even  in  the  translation,  the  sentiments  must 
•commend  themselves  to  every  reader  : 

An  honest  man  to  law  makes  no  resort ; 
His  conscience  is  the  better  rule  of  court. 

The  man  who  first  laid  down  the  pedant  rule 
That  love  is  folly,  was  himself  a  fool : 
For  if  to  life  that  transport  you  den^, 
What  privilege  is  left  us — but  to  die? 

Cease,  mourner,  cease  complaint,  and  weep  no  more ! 
Your  lost  friends  are  not  dead,  but  gone  before; 
Advanced  a  stage  or  two  upon  that  road 
Which  you  must  travel  in  the  steps  they  trod  ? 
In  the  same  inn  -we  all  shall  meet  at  last,  • 

There  take  new  life  and  laugh  at  sorrows  past. 

Ye§ — 'tis  the  greatest  evil  man  can  know,  • 

The  keenest  sorrow  in  this  world  of  woe, 

The  heaviest  impost  laid  on  human  breath, 

Which  all  must  pay,  or  yield  the  forfeit — death. 

For  death  all  wretches  pray ;  but  when  the  wayer 

Is  heard,  and  he  steps  forth  to  ease  their  care, 

Gods  !   how  they  tremble  at  his  aspect  rude, 

And, -loathing  turn!     Such  man's  ingratitude! 

And  none  so  fondly  cling  to  life,  as  he 

Who  hath  outlived  all  life's  felicity. 

Though  we  have  already  given  a  parasite  from  Enpolis,  yet  we  cannot 
refuse  admission  to  the  following  pleasant,  impudent  fellow,  who  gives 
name  to  a  comedy  of  Antiphanes,  and  in  the  following  spirited  Apology 
for  his  life  and  actions,  takes  upon  himself  the  office  of  being  his  own 
historian.  The  fragment  itself  is  a  very  striking  specimen  of  the  author  : 

What  art,  vocation,  trade,  or   mystery 
Can  match  with  your  fine  Parasite?    The  painter? 
He !   a  mere  dauber :   a  vile  drudge,  the    farmer  : 
Their  business  is  to  labor,  ours  to  laugh, 
To  jeer,  to  quibble,  faith,  sirs  !   and  to  drink. 
Ay,  and  to  drink  lustily.     Is  not  this  rare  ? 
'Tis  life,  my  life  at  least:   the  first  of  pleasure 
Were  to  be  rich  myself ;   but  next  to  this 
I  hold  it  best  to  be  a  parasite, 
And  feed  upon  the  rich.     Now,  mark  me  right! 
Set  down  my  virtues  one  by  one :    imprimis, 
Good  will  to  all  men.     Would  they  were  all  rich, 
So  might  I  gull  them  all :   malice  to  none  ; 
I  envy  no  man's  fortune — all  I  wish 
Is  but  to  share  it :  would  you  have  a  friend, 


370  A.C.]  ARISTOPHON.    '  387 

A  gallant  steady  friend?     I  am  your  man: 

No  striker  I,  no  swaggerer,  no  defamer, 

But  one  to  bear  all  these  and  still  forbear  : 

If  you  insult,  I  laugh,  unruffled,  merry, 

Invincibly  good-humor'd,  still  I  laugh : 

A  stout,  good  soldier  I,  valorous  to  a  fault, 

When  once  my  stomach's  up  and  supper's  served: 

You  know  my  humor,  not  one  spark  of  pride, 

Such  and  the  same  forever  to  my  friends: 

If  cudgel'd,  molten  iron  to  the  hammer 

Is  not  so  malleable;  but  if  I  cudgel, 

Bold  as  the  thunder  :   is  one  to  be  blinded  ? 

I  am  the  lightning's  flash  :   to  be  puff  'd  up, 

I  am  the  wind  to  blow  him  to  the  bursting  : 

Choked,  strangled  ?     I  can  do  't  and  save  a  halter : 

Would  you  break  down  his  doors  ?     Behold  an  earthquake : 

Open  and  enter  them  ?     A  battering  ram : 

Will  you  sit  down  to  supper  ?     I'm  your  guest, 

Your  very  Fly,  to  enter  without  bidding  : 

Would  you  move  off  ?     You'll  move  a  well  as  soon  : 

I'm  for  all  work,  and  though  the  job  were  stabbing, 

Betraying,  false  accusing,  only  say 

Do  this,  and  it  is  done  !     I  stick  at  nothing; 

They  call  me  thunderbolt  for  my  despatch: 

Friend  of  my  friends  am  I :   let  actions  speak  me : 

I'm  much  too  modest  to  commend  myself. 

With  the  following  beautiful  lines  on  a  fountain,  near  which  a  murder 
had  t  been  committed,  we  shall  close  our  extracts  from  this  interesting 
poet  • 

Erewhile  my  gentle  streams  were  wont  to  pour 
Along  their  banks  a  pure  translucent  tide; 
But  now  the  waves  are  shrunk  and  channel  dried, 
*         And  Naiads  know  their  once-loved  haunt  no  more; 
Since  that  sad  moment  when  my  verdant  shore 
Was  with  the  crimson  hue  of  murder  dyed. 
To  cool  the  sparkling  heat  of  wine  we  glide, 
But  shrink  abhorrent  from  the  stain  of  gore. 

Aristophon  was  a  contemporary  of  Antiphanes,  but  of  his  history 
nothing  is  farther  known.  The  titles  of  nine  of  his  comedies,  and  some 
important  fragments,  have  been  preserved ;  and  from  these  alone  critics 
have  been  led  to  place  him  among  the  writers  of  the  Middle  Comedy. 

Love  and  matrimony — subjects  so  rarely  introduced  into  the  Old — 
became  important  personages  in  the  Middle  Comedy.  The  former 
appears  to  have  opened  a  very  flowery  field  to  fancy ;  the  latter  seems 
generally  to  have  been  set  up  as  the  butt  of  ridicule  and  invective. 
Hence,  on  the  topic  of  matrimony,  the  author  says : 

A  man  may  marry  once  without  a  crime, 
But  cursed  is  he  who  weds  a  second  time. 


388  CLEARCHUS.  [LECT.  XV. 

But,  on  the  topic  of  love,  as  will  appear  from  the  following  verses,  he 
is  more  playful  and  ingenious  : 

Love,  the  disturber  of  the  peace  of  heaven, 
And  grand  foraenter  of  Olympian  feuds, 
Was  banish'd  from  the  synod  of  the  gods : 
They  drove  him  down  to  earth  at  the  expense 
Of  us  poor  mortals,  and  curtail'd  his  wings 
To  spoil  his  soaring,  and  secure  themselves 
From  his  annoyance.     Selfish,  hard  decree ! 
For  ever  since  he  roams  th'  unquiet  world, 
The  tyrant  and  despoiler  of  mankind. 

In  one  of  his  comedies,  The  Pythagorista,  Aristophon  ridicules  the 
juggling  tricks  of  Pythagoras,  that  prince  of  impostors,  and  thus  humor- 
ously describes  his  disciples : 

So  gaunt  they  seem,  that  famine  never  made 

Of  lank  Philippides  so  mere  a  shade ; 

Of  salted  tunny-fish  their  scanty  dole, 

Their  beverage,  like  the  frog's,  a  standing  pool, 

With  now  and  then  a  cabbage,  at  the  best 

The  leavings  of  the  caterpillar's  feast : 

No  comb  approaches  their  dishevel'd  hair 

To  rout  the  long-established  myriads  there ; 

On  the  bare  ground  their  bed,  nor  do  they  know 

A  warmer  coverlid  than  serves  the  crow: 

Flames  the  meridian  sun  without  a  cloud  ? 

They  bask  like  grasshoppers  and  chirp  as  loud: 

With  oil  they  never  even  feast  their  eyes; 

The  luxury  of  stockings  they  despise, 

But  barefoot  as  the  crane  still  march  along 

All  night  in  chorus  with  the  screech-owl's  song. 

Of  Clearchus  we  know  nothing  farther  than  that  he  was  a  native  of 
Athens,  and  a  comic  poet  of  high  reputation.  Athenseus  has  preserved 
the  titles  of  three  of  his  comedies  and  also  a  few  fragments,  of  which 
the  following  on  drunkenness  is  the  most  valuable : 

Could  every  drunkard,  ere  he  sits  to  dine, 
Feel  in  his  head  the  dizzy  fumes  of  wine, 
No  more  would  Bacchus   chain  the  willing  soul, 
But  loathing  horror,  shun  the  poison'd  bowL 
But  frantic  joy  foreruns  the  pains  of  fate, 
And  real  good  we  cannot  calculate. 

Athenceus  mentions,  in  connection  with  the  comic  poet  last  noticed, 
Criton,  Crobylus,  Demetrius,  Damoocenus,  and  Diodorus.  Of  Criton 
nothing  is  known  farther  than  that  he  was  a  native  Athenian,  and  no- 
thing remains  of  his  comedies  but  a  few  lines  and  three  titles..  Crobylus 


370  A.C.]  DIODORUS.  389 

was  also  a  native  of  Athens,  and  flourished  about  324  A.C.  Of  his 
plays  also  nothing  now  remains  but  three  titles  and  a  few  brief  and  un- 
important fragments.  Demetrius  was  evidently  a  comic  poet  of  great 
reputation,  but  it  is  very  difficult  to  determine  at  what  period  he  lived, 
or  to  which  school  of  comedy  he  belonged.  Clinton  supposes  there 
were  two  Demetrii,  the  one  a  poet  of  the  Old  comedy,  and  the  other  of 
the  Middle  ;  and  if  this  supposition  be  correct,  it  removes  the  difficulty 
of  reconciling  allusions  in  two  of  their  fragments — the  first  being  to 
events  that  transpired  as  early  as  412  A.C.,  and  the  other,  to  the  age 
of  Seleucus,  about  300  A.C.  Damoxenus  was  also  a  native  of  Athens. 
The  titles  of  two  of  his  plays  are  mentioned  by  Athenaeus,  who  quotes 
a  long  passage  from  the  one  and  a  few  lines  from  the  other. 

Diodorus  was  a  native  of  Sin  ope,  a  city  of  Pontus,  and  the  birth-place 
of  many  eminent  poets  and  philosophers.  In  an  extant  inscription  his 
date  is  fixed  at  354  A.C.,  and  of  his  comedies,  three  titles,  and  a  few  frag- 
ments have  been  preserved.  From  the  fragments  we  select  the  fol- 
lowing : 

When  your  foe  dies,  let  all  resentment  cease, 

Make  peace  with  death,  and  death 'shall  give  you  peace.     • 

This  is  my  rule,  and  to  this  rule  I'll  hold, 
To  choose  my  wife  by  merit,  not  by  gold; 
For  on  that  one  election  must  depend 
Whether  I  wed  a  fury  or  a  friend. 

Ephippus,  of  Athens,  was  a  comic  poet  of  the  middle  comedy,  as  we 
learn  from  the  testimony  of  Suidas,  and  Antiochus  of  Alexandria,  and 
also  from  the  allusions  in  his  fragments  to  Plato,  and  the  Academic 
philosophers.  Of  his  comedies  twelve  titles  have  been  pre'served,  the 
Philyra  being  the  most  admired  of  his  plays.  This  Philyra  was  the 
mother  of  Chiron  the  Centaur.  From  all  accounts  it  would  seem,  that 
Ephippus  was  one  of  the  most  celebrated  poets  of  his  age.  Dionysius 
of  Sinope,  was  the  countryman,  contemporary,  and  intimate  friend  of 
Diodorus.  Of  this  poet  we  have  but  a  single  sentence,  yet  the  maxim 

that  it  contains  is  so  excellent,  that  we  think  it  worth  preserving : 

i 
Either  say  something  better  than  nothing,  or  say  nothing! 

Dionysius  the  celebrated  tyrant  of  Syracuse,  was  also  a  writer  of  the 
middle  comedy,  and  one  of  no  mean  pretensions. 

• 

Epicrat.es,  the  Athenian  comic  poet,  was  a  native  of  Ambrosia,  the 
capital  of  Epirus,  and  flourished,  according  to  Meineke,  between  376  and 
348  A.C.  His  reputation  is  high  amongst  the  writers  of  the  class  that 
we  are  at  present  considering,  though,  according  to  Athenaeus,'  he  was  an 


390  EPICRATES.  [LECT.  XV. 

imitator  of  the  manner  of  Antiphanes,  of  whom  he  was  some  years  the 
junior.  The  names  of  five  of  the  comedies  of  Epicrates  are  still  extant; 
and  the  following  remnant  of  a  dialogue  ridicules  the  frivolous  disquisi- 
tions of  the  Academy  in  so  pleasant  a  style  of  comic  irony  as  to  render 
it  a  fragment  of  the  utmost  value.  The  reader,  acquainted  with  the 
original  language  will  at  once  perceive  a  striking  similitude  in  the  man- 
ner to  Aristophanes'  remarks  upon  the 'occupations  of  Socrates'  scholars 
in  the  comedy  of  The  Clouds. 

A.  I  pray  you,  sir,  (for  I  perceive  you  learn'd 
la  these  grave  matters),  let  my  ignorance  suck 
Some  profit  from  your  courtesy,  and  tell  me 
What  are  you  wise  philosophers  engaged  in, 
Your  Plato,  Menedemus,  and  Speuaippus  ? 

What  mighty  mysteries  have  they  in  projection  ? 
What  new  discoveries  may  the  world  expect 
From  their  profound  researches?     I  conjure  you, 
By  earth,  our  common  mother,  to  impart  them  1 

B.  Sir,  you  shall  know  at .  our  great  festival 
I  was  myself  their  hearer,  and  so  much 

As  I  there  heard  will  presently  disclose, 
•     So  you  will  give  it  ears,  for  I  might  speak 
Of  things  perchance  surpassing  your  belief, 
So  strange  they  will  appear ;  but  so  it  happened 
That  these  most  sage  Academicians  sat 
In  solemn  consultation— on  a  cabbage. 

A.  A  cabbage !   what  did  they  discover  there  ? 

B.  Oh,  sir,  your  cabbage  hath  its  sex  and  gender, 
In  provinces,  prerogatives,  and  ranks, 

And,  nicely  handled,  breeds  as  many  questions 
As  it  does  maggots.     All  the  younger  fry 
Stood  dumb  with  expectation  'and  respect, 
Wondering  what  this  same  cabbage  should  bring  forth: 
The  Lecturer  eyed  them  round,  whereat  a  youth 
Took  heart,  and  breaking  first  the  awful  silence, 
Humbly  craved  leave  to  think — that  it  was  round : 
The  cause  was  now  at  issue,  and  a  second 
Opined  it  was  an  herb — A  third  conceived 
With  due  submission  it  might  be  a  plant — 
The  difference  methought  was  such  that  each 
Might  keep  his  own  opinion  arfd  be  right ; 
But  soon  a  bolder  voice  broke  up  the  council, 
And,  stepping  forward,  a  Sicilian  quack 
Told  them  their  question  was  abuse  of  time, 
It  was  a  cabbage,  neither  more  nor  less, 
m  And  they  were  fools  to  prate  so  much  about  it — 

Insolent  wretch !  amazement  seized  the  troop, 
Clamor  and  wrath  and  tumult  raged  amain, 
Till  Plato,  trembling  for  his  own  philosophy, 
And  calmly  praying  patience  of  the  court, 
Took  up  the  cabbage  and  adjourn'd  the  cause. 


370A.C.]  MNESIMACHUS.  391 

4  "We  have  still  briefly  to  notice,  as  writers  of  the  middle  comedy, 
Eriphus,  Euphron,  Heniochus,  Mnesimachus,  Straton,  Moschion,  Nwos- 
tratu's,  Pkcenicides,  Alexis,  Sotades,  Theophilus,  Timocles,  and  Xenar- 
chus. 

Eriphus,  according  to  Atjienaeus,  was  a  native  of  Athens,  and  a  con- 
temporary of  Antiphanes,  from  whose  comedies  he  is  represented  to 
have  extensively  borrowed.  A  few  small  fragments,  and  the  .titles  of 
three  of  his  plays,  comprise  his  entire  remains. 

Euphron  was  another  Athenian  poet  of  this  period,  and  one  whose 
fame  has  outlived  the  works  on  which  it  was  founded.  Six  of  his  com- 
edies only  have  bequeathed  their  names  to  us,  and  a  very  scanty  portion 
of  their  contents.  One  of  his  plays  was  entitled  Adelphi,  and  was,  per- 
haps, the  original  whence  Terence's  comedy  of  the  same  name  was 
copied.  Athenaeus  and  Stobaeus  have  favored  us  with  a  few  small  relics 
of  Euphron's  poetry ;  and  in  the  following  couplet  there  is  a  tender,  me- 
lancholy and  touching  simplicity : 

Tell  me,  all-judging  Jove,  if  this  be  fair, 
To  make  so  short  a  life  so  full  of  care  ? 

The  following  brief  apostrophe  contains,  it  will  be  acknowledged,  a 
very  spirited  and  striking  turn  of  thought : 

Wretch  !   find  new  gods  to  witness  to  new  lies, 
Thy   perjuries  have  made  the  old  too  wise ! 

The  ancients  had  an  idea  that  a  man  who  paid  little  attention  to  his 
own  affairs,  was  not  to  be  entrusted  with  the  affairs  of  the  St'ate ;  and 
hence  such  sentiments  as  the  following  were  not  unfrequent  amongst  the 
writers  for  the  stage  : 

Let  not  his  fingers  touch  the  public  chest, 

Who,  by  his  own  profusion,  is  distress'd; 

For  long,  long  years  of  caye  it  needs  must  take 

To  heal  those  wounds  which  one  short  hour  will  make. 

* 

Heniochus,  also  a  native  Athenian,  was  a  writer  of  a  grave,  senten- 
tious cast,  and  one  who  did  not  hesitate  to  give  a  personal  name  to  one 
of  his  comedies,  written  professedly  against  the  character  of  Thorucion,  a 
certain  military  prefect  in  those  times,  and  a  notorious  traitor  to  his 
country.  His  comedies  were  very  numerous,  and  the  titles  of  fifteen  are 
still,  preserved.  From  one  of  these  a  curious  fragment  has  been  saved; 
but  as  it  is  rather  of  a  political  than  of  a  dramatic  complexion,  it  would 
not,  perhaps,  here  be  appropriate. 

Mnesiinachus  is  mentioned  both  by  iElian  and  Athenaeus  as  an  eminent 


392  STRATON.  [LECT.  XV. 

writer  of  the  middle  comedy ;  and  by  the  samples  we  have  of  his  plays, 
few  as  they  are,  we  may  see  that  he  was  a  minute  describer  of  the  famil- 
iar manners  and  characters  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived.  He  was  doubt- 
less a  writer  of  a  peculiar  cast — a  dealer  in  low  and  loquacious  dialogue 
— a  strong,  coarse  colorist,  and  one  who,  if  time  had  spared  his  works, 
would  probably  have  imparted  to  us  more  of  the  Costuma,  as  it  is  called, 
than  any  of  his  contemporaries.  .Few  modern  authors  could  describe,  or 
actors  delineate,  a  company  of  banditti  or  bravos  at  their  meal  in  bolder 
caricature,  than  is  displayed  in  the  following  sketch : 

Dost  know  whom  thou'rt  to  sup  with,  friend?     I'll  tell  thee; 

With  gladiators,  not  with  peaceful  guests  ; 

Instead  of  knives  we're  armed  with  naked  swords, 

And  swallow  firebrands  in  the  place  of  food: 

Daggers  of  Crete  are  served  us  for  confections, 

And  for  a  plate  of  peas,  a  fricassee 

Of  scatter'd  spears:   the  cushions  we  repose  on 

Are  shields  and  breastplates,  at  our  feet  a  pile 

Of  slings  and  arrows,  and  our  foreheads  wreath'd 

With  military  ensigns,  not  with  myrtle. 

Straton,  the  next  Athenian  writer  of  the  middle  comedy,  supplies  us 
with  the  names  of  two  plays,  and  the  small  bequest  of  a  single  fragment. 
This  bequest  is,  however,  an  acceptable  one,  as  it  recounts  part  of  a  dia- 
logue, which,  to  a  certain  degree,  gives  some  display  of  character,  of  a 
facetious  comic  cast,  in  the  range  of  familiar  life.  The  speaker  is  some 
master  of  a  family,  who  is  complaining  to  his  companion  in  the  scene,  of 

the  whimsical,  conceited  humor  of  his  cook  : 

• 

I've  harbored  a  He  Sphinx  and  not  a  cook, 
For  by  the  gods  he  talked  to  me  in  riddles, 
And  coin'd  new  words  that  pose  me  to  interpret. 
No  sooner  had  he  enter'd  on  his  office  0 

Than,  eyeing  me  from  head  to  foot,  he  cries — 
'  How  many  mortals  hast  thou  bid  to  supper  ?' 
Mortals  !   quoth  I,  what  tell*  you  me  of  mortals  ? 
Let  Jove  decide  on  their  mortality ; 
You're  crazy,  sure !   none  by  that  name  are  biddln. 
'  No  Table  Usher ;   no  one  to  officiate 
As  master  of  the  Courses  ?' — No  such  person : 
Moschion  and  Niceratus  and  Philinus, 
These  are  my  guests  and  friends,  and  amongst  these 
You'll  find  no  table-decker  as  I  take  it. 

'  Gods  1   is  it  possible  ?'   cried  he  :   Most  certain, 
I  patiently  replied.     He  sw,ell'd  and  huff'd, 
As  if  forsooth  I  had  done  him  heinous  wrong, 
And  robb'd  him  of  his  proper  dignity  ; 
Ridiculous  conceit ! — '  What  offering  makest  thou 
To  Erysichthon ?'  he  deluded:   None — 


370A.C.]  MOSCHION.  393 

'  Shall  not  the  wide-horn'd  ox  be  fell'd  V  cries  he. 

I  sacrifice  no  ox — 'Nor  yet  a  wether?' 

Not  I,  by  Jove ;   a  simple  sheep  perhaps. 

'  And  what's  a  wether  but  a  sheep  ?'   cries  he. 

Pm  a  plain  man,  my  friend,  and  therefore  speak 

Plain  language. — '  What !    I  speak  as  Homer  does  ; 

And  sure  a  cook  may  use  like  privilege, 

And  more  than  a  blind  poet !' — Not  with  me  ; 

I'll  have  no  kitchen  Homers  in  my  house ! 

So  pray  discharge  yourself! — Thus  said,  we  parted. 

Moschion,  according  to  the  authority  of  Clemens  Alexandrinus  and 
Stobseus,  was  a  writer  of  the  middle  comedy,  and  a  dramatist  of  a  very 
moral  and  pathetic  turn.  His  fragments  fully  sustain  this  character. 
The  titles  of  three  of  his  comedies  remain,  one  olF  which  is  Themistodes  ; 
and  probably  the  following  fragment,  preserved  by  Stobaeus,  may  refer  to 
the  exile  of  that  great  man,  when  a  supplicant  at  the  court  of  Admetus, 
king  of  Molossus : 

The  proudest  once  in  glory,  mind,  and  race, 

The  first  of  monarchs,  of  mankind  the  grace, 

Now  wandering,  outcast,  desolate  and  poor, 

A  wretched  exile  on  a  foreign  shore, 

With  miserable  aspect  bending  low, 

Holds  in  his  trembling  hand  the  suppliant  bough : 

Unhappy  proof,  how  false  the  flattering  light, 

Which  Fortune's  blazing  torch  holds  forth  to  sight ! 

Now,  not  the  meanest  stranger  parsing  by 

But  greets  the  fallen  hero  with  a  sigh ; 

Perhaps  with  gentle  accents  soothes  his  woe, 

And  lets  the  kindly  tear  of  pity  flow ; 

For  where's  the  heart  so  hardened  and^o  rude, 

As  not  to  melt  at  life's  vicissitude  ? 

The  tender  and  religious  sentiments  conveyed  in  the  fragment  which 
follows,  and  which  was  preserved  by  Clemens,  deserve  particular  atten- 
tion, and  would  seem  to  indicate  that  Moschion  indulged  in  the  tragic,  as 
well  as  in  the  comic  vein  : 

Let  the  earth  cover  and  protect  its  dead ! 
And  let  man's  breath  thither  return  in  peace 
From  whence  it  came ;  his  spirit  to  the  skies, 
His  body  to  the  clay  of  which  'twas  formed, 
Imparted  to  him  as  a  loan  for  life, 
Which  he  and  all  must  render  back  again 
To  earth,  the  common  mother  of  mankind. 

Again,  in  a  strain  yet  more  elevated — 

Wound  not  the  soul  pf  a  departed  man  1 
"Pis  impious  cruelty ;  let  justice  strike 


394  ALEXIS.  [LECT.  XV 

The  living,  but  in  mercy  spare  the  dead. 
And  why  pursue  the  shadow  that  is  past  ? 
Why  slander  the  deaf  earth  that  cannot  hear, 
The  dumb  that  cannot  utter  ?     When  the  soul 
No  longer  takes  account  of  human  wrongs, 
Nor  joys  nor  sorrows  touch  the  mouldering  heart, 
As  well  may  you  give  feelings  to  the  tomb, 
As  what  it  covers — both  alike  defy  you. 

Nicostratus,  the  third  sou  of  Aristophanes,  is  the  next  comic  poet  to 
be  noticed,  and,  according  to  Athenaeus,  Suidas,  Laertius,  and  others,  he- 
was  a  writer  of  great  reputation.  His  comedies  are  said  to  have  been 
found,  after  his  death,  in  a  chest,  where  they  had  long  been  concealed, 
and  their  absence  much  regretted.  The  titles  of  nineteen  of  his  plays 
are  still  known,  and  we  are  farther  informed  that  he  was  so  excellent  an 
actor,  that  it  became  a  proverb  of  honor  to  pronounce  upon  any  other 
capital  performer,  that — He  played  in  the  style  of  Nicostratus.  It  is  a 
source  of  deep  regret  that  the  following  brief  fragment  is  the  only  pas- 
sage of  this  interesting  poet's  writing  worth  preserving : — 

If  in  prattling  from  morning  till  night 

A  sign  of  our  wisdom  there  be, 
The  swallows  are  wiser  by  right, 

For  they  prattle  much  faster  than  we. 

Of  Phoenicides,  little  is  now  known  farther  than  that  he  was  a  native 
of  Megara,  and  flourished  towards  the  close  of  the  middle  comedy. 
Three  titles  of  comedies  by  this  author  have  been  preserved,  and  a  frag- 
ment, very  important  in  a  literary  point  of  view ;  but  as  it  is  the  recital 
of  a  courtezan,  though  full  of  comic  humor,  it  is  not  suited  to  our  pur- 
pose. 

Alexis,  perhaps  the  most  distinguished  writer  of  the  middle  comedy, 
was  a  native  of  Thurium,  in  Magna  Grsecia,  and  was  born  about  394  A.C. 
In  childhood,  however,  he  was  carried  by  his  parents  to  Athens,  and  there, 
as  soon  as  he  had  reached  mature  age,  was  admitted  to  all  the  privileges 
of  an  Athenian  citizen^and  enrolled  in  one  of  the  tribes.  He  was  the  uncle 
and  instructor  of  Menander,  and  the  first  to  discover  the  future  poet's 
great  genius.  He  appears,  according  to  Athenseus,  to  have  been  rather 
addicted  to  the  pleasures  of  the  table,  though  the  following  fragment, 
preserved  by  the  same  critic,  conveys  the  strongest  marks  of  detestation 
that  language  can  supply  of  the  very  vice  to  which  Athenseus  informs  us 
he  was  a  slave  : 

You,  sir,  a  Cyrenian,  as  I  take  you, 

Look  at  your  sect  of  d*perate  voluptuaries ! 

There's  Diodorus — beggary  is  too  good  for  him — 

A  vast  inheritance  in  two  short  years, 

Where  is  it  ?     Squander'd,  vanish' d,  gone  forever, 


894  A.C.]  .ALEXIS.  •       395 

So  rapid  "was  his  dissipation — Stop ! 
Stop,  my  good  friend,  you  cry ;   not  quite  so  fast ; 
This  man  went  fairly  and  softly  to  bis  ruin ; 
What  talk  you  of  two  years  ?     As  many  days, 
Two  little  days,  were  long  enough  to  finish 
Young  Epicharides ;  he  had  some  soul, 
And  drove  a  merry  pace  to  his  undoing — 
Marry  1   if  a  kind  of  surfeit  would  surprise  us, 
Ere  we  sit  down  to  earn  it,  such  prevention 
Would  come  most  opportune  to  save  the  trouble 
Of  a  sick  stomach  and  an  aching  head : 
But  whilst  the  punishment  is  out  of  sight, 
And  the  full  chalice  at  our  lips,  we  drink, 
Drink  all  to-day,  to-morrow  fast  and  mourn, 
Sick,  and  all-o'er  oppre%t  with  nauseous  fumes; 
Such  is  the  drunkard's  curse,  and  hell  itself 
Cannot  devise  a  greater. — Oh,  that  Nature 
Might  quit  us  of  this  overbearing  burden. 
This  tyrant-god,  the  belly !     Take  that  from  us, 
With  all  its  bestial  appetites,  and  man,* 
Exonerated  man,  shall  be  all  soul. 

Alexis  lived  to  a  very  advanced  age,  and  according  to  Plutarch,  he  ex- 
pired upon  the  stage  while  being  crowned  as  victor  in  the  comic  contest. 
Though  he  belonged  to  the  middle  comedy,  yet  the  great  length  to  which 
his  life  was  prolonged,  and  the  energy  with  which  he  wrote  to  the  last, 
made  him,  for  more  than  thirty  years,  the  contemporary  of  Menander, 
Philemon,  Philippides,  and  Diphilus.  He  was  one  of  the  most  prolific 
poets  of  the  Greek  stage,  having  written,  according  to  Suidas,  two  hun- 
dred* and  forty-five  comedies,  the  titles  of  one  hundred  and  thirteen  of 
which  have  been  preserved.  This  proves  that  he  possessed  a  very  co- 
pious vein  of  invention,  and  the  fragments  which  remain  out  of  the  gen- 
eral wreck  of  his  works,  indicates  the  richness  of  that  vein.  The  works 
of  such  a  master  were  of  themselves  a  study ;  and  as  Menander  formed 
himself  upon  his  instructions,  we  cannot  fail  to  conceive  very  highly  of 
the  preceptor  from  the  acknowledged  excellence  of  the  pupil.  Aristotle 
records  an  answer  made  by  Alexis  to  an  inquisitive  fellow,  who  observed 
him  in  his  latter  years  slowly  crawling  along  the  streets  of  Athens,  and 
demanded  '  what  he  was  doing.'  '  Nothing,'  replied  the  feeble  veteran, 
'  and  of  that  very  diseage  I  am  dying.'  Stobaeus  has  the  same  anecdote, 
and  we  think  it  unlikely  that  a  man  who  preserved  so  vigorous  a  mind  as 
Plutarch  says  he  did,  to  extreme  old  age,  could  have  been  an  habitual 
glutton.  Indeed,  the  irony  of  the  following  lines  on  the  Epicureans  is 
unmistakable : 

I  sigh'd  for  ease,  and,  weary  of  my  lot, 
Wish'd  to  exchange  it ;   in  this  mood  I  stroll'd 
Up  to  the  citadel  three  several  days: 
And  there  I  found  a  bevy  of  preceptors 


396     '  ALEXIS,  [LECT.  XV 

For  my  new  system,  thirty  in  a  group ; 
All  with  one  voice  prepared  to  tutor  me — 
Eat,  drink,  and  revel  in  the  joys  of  love  ! 
For  pleasure  is  the  wise  man's  sovereign  good. 

A.  Gellius  informs  us  that  Alexis  formed  the  plot  of  one  of  his  comedies 
upon  the  life  and  actions  of  Pythagoras;  and  his  choice  certainly  de- 
serves to  be  commended ;  for  we  cannot  conceiye  a  happier  fable  for  the 
use  of  an  ingenious  author,  nor  any  that  would  afford  a  more  fruitful  field 
for  facetious  raillery  than  the  extravagant  and  juggling  tricks  and  con- 
trivances of  that  impostor's  story  afford. 

Vitruvius,  in  the  beginning  of  his  sixth  book,  has  the  following  quota- 
tion from  orve  of  the  dramas  of  Alexis,  which  is  of  considerable  historical 
importance : 

Whereas  all  other  States  of  Greece  compel 
The  children  of  poor  parents  to  support 
Those,  who  begot  them,  we  of  Athens  make 
The  law  imperative  in  such  children  only 
As  are  beholden  to  their  parents  for 
The  blessing  of  a  liberal  education. 

Matrimony  and  Love  were,  however,  his  favorite  themes ;  and  he  cer- 
tainly must  nave  been  very  much  out  of  humor  with  the  sex  when  he 
wrote  the  following  lines,  or  else  the  Athenian  wives  must  have  been 
mere  Xantippes  to  deserve  them  : — 

Nor  house,  nor  coffers,  nor  whatever  else 

Is  dear  and  precious,  should  be  watched  so  closely, 

As  she  whom  you  call  wife.     Sad  lot  is  ours, 

Who  barter  life  and  all  its  free  delights, 

To  be  the  slaves  of  woman,  and*  are  paid 

Her  bridal  portion  in  the  luckless  coin 

Of  sorrow  and  vexation.     A  man's  wrath 

Is  milk  and  honey  to  a  woman's  rage; 

He  can  be  much  offended  and  forgive  ; 

She  never  pardons  those  she  most  offends 

What  she  should  do  she  slights,  what  she  should  not, 

Hotly  pursues:   false  to  each  virtuous  point, 

And  only  in  her  wickedness  sincere. 

Who  but  a  lunatic,  would  wed,  and  be 
Wilfully  wretched?     Better  to  endure 
The  shame  of  poverty  and  all  its  taunts, 
Rather  than  this.     The  reprobate,  on  whom 
The  censor  sets  his  hand,  is  justly  doomed 
Unfit  to  govern  others ;  but  the  wretch 
Who  weds,  no  longer  can  command  himself; 
Nor  hath  his  woe  a  period  but  in  death. 


855  A.C.]  SOTADES.  397 

From  this  gloomy  picture  of  matrimony  we  turn  to  the  following  vivid 
and  pleasing  description  of  Love : 

The  man  who  holds  true  pleasure  to  consist 
In  pampering  his  vile  body,  and  defies 
Love's  great  divinity,  rashly  maintains 
Weak  impious  war  with  an  immortal  God. 
The  gravest  master  that  the  schools  can  boast 
Ne'er  trained  his  pupils  to  such  discipline 
As  Love  his  votaries.     And  where  is  he, 
So  stubborn  and  determinedly  stiff 
But  shall,  at  some  time,  bend  his  knee  to  Love, 
And  make  obeisance  at  his  mighty  shrine. 

One  day,  as  slowly  sauntering  from  the  port, 
A  thousand  cares  conflicting  in -my  breast, 
Thus  I  began  to  commune  with  myself — 
Methinks  these  painters  misapply  their  art, 
And  never  knew  the  being  which  they  draw; 
For  mark  their  many  false  conceits  of  Love.  t 

Love  is  nor  male  nor  female,  man  nor  god, 
Nor  Vith  intelligence,     nor  yet  without  it, 
But  a  strange  compound  of  all  these,  uniting 
In  one  mixed  essence  many  opposites : 
A  manly  courage  with  a  woman's  fear,         • 
The  madman's  frenzy  in  a  reasoning  mind, 
The  strength  of  «teel,  the  fury  of  a  beast, 
The  ambition  of  a  hero.     Something  'tis, 
But  by  Minerva  and  the  gods  I  swear, 
I  know  not  what  this  nameless  something  is. 

Sotades,  whom  we  are  next  to  notice,  was  a  native  Athenian,  an  elegant 
writer,  and  a  great  favorite  with  the  theatre-going  public.  "We  have  the 
titles  of  two  of  his  comedies,  and  some  fragments,  one  of  which,  amongst 
many  other  instances,  shows  how  rapidly  the  Middle  Comedy  of  Athens 
was  now  verging  towards  the  grave  and  sentimental  character  of  the 
New.  The  fragment  to  which  we  here  allude,  is  the  following : 

Is  there  a  man,  just,  honest,  nobly  born  ? 
Malice  shall  hunt  him  down.     Does  wealth  attend  him ! 
Trouble  is  hard  behind.     Conscience  direct  ? 
Beggary  is  at  his  heels.     Is  he  an  artist  ? 
Farewell,  repose !     An  equal,  upright  judge  ? 
Report  shall  blast  his  virtues.     Is  he  strong? 
Sickness  shall  sap  his  strength.     Account  that  day 
Which  brings  no  new  mischance,  a  day  of  rest. 
For  what  is  man  ?     What  matter  is  be  made  of  ? 
How  born  ?     What  is  he,  and  what  shall  he  be  ? 
What  an  unnatural  parent  is  this  world, 
To  foster  none  but  villains,  and  destroy 


398  TIM  OGLES.  [LECT  XV 

All  who  are  benefactors  to  mankind  ! 

What  was  the  Me  of  Socrates  ?     A  prison, 

A  dose  of  poison;   tried,  condemn'd,  and  killed. 

How  died  Diogenes  ?     As  a  dog  dies, 

With  a  raw  morsel  in  his  hungry  throat. 

Alas  for  JEschylus  !     Musing  he  walked — 

The  soaring  eagle  dropp'd  a  tortoise  down, 

And  crushed  that  brain,  where  tragedy  had  birth. 

A  paltry  grape-stone  chok'd  the  Athenian  Bee. 

Mastiffs  of  Thrace  devour'd  Euripides — 

And  god-like  Homer,  woe  the  while  !    was  starved. 

Thus  life,  blind  life,  teems  with  perpetual  woes. 

Theophilus,  another  Athenian  comic  poet  of^  this  period  of  great 
popularity,  forms  a  remarkable  contrast  to  Sotades.  Of  the  comedies 
ascribed  to  him  we  have  seven  titles  and  a  few  fragments.  The  frag- 
ments of  this  poet  'are  of  a  very  lively  cast,  and  the  following,  on  the 
fertile  subject  of  love,  certainly  deserves  to  be  preserved  as  one  of  the 
beauties  of  the  Greek  stage  : 
• 

If  love  be  folly  as  th*e  schools  would  prove, 
The  man  must  lose  his  wits  who  falls  in  love ; 
Deny  him  love,  you  doom  the  wretch  to  death, 
.     And  then  it  follows  he  must  lose  his  breath.  < 

Good  sooth  !   there  is  a  young  and  dainty  maid 
I  dearly  love,  a  minstrel  she  by  trade ; 
•  What  then?     Must  I  defer  to  pedant  rule, 

And  own  that  love  transforms  me  to  a  fool? 
Not  I,  so  help  me !    by  the  gods  I  swear, 
The  nynfyh  I  love  is  fairest  of  the  fair  I 
.  Wise,  witty,  dearer  to  a  poet's  sight 
Than  piles  of  money  on  an  author's  night ; 
Must  I  not  love  her  then?     Let  the  dull  sot, 
Who  made  the  law,  obey  it !   f  will  not. 

Timocles,  the  last  Athenian  comic  poet  of  the  Middle  Comedy  but  one, 
who  lived  at  a  period  when  the  revival  of  political  energy,  in  consequence 
of  the  encroachments *of  Philip,  restored  to  the  Middle  Comedy  much  of 
the  vigor  and  real  aim  of  the  Old,  is  conspicuous  for  the  freedom  with 
which  he  discussed,  public  men  and  measures,  as  well  as  for  the  number 
of  his  dramas,  and  the  purity  of  his  style,  in  which  scarcely  any  departure 
from  the  best  standard  of  Attic  diction  can  be  detected.  He  flourished 
between  355  A.C.  and  324  A.C.,  and,  like  Antiphanes,  made  sarcastic 
allusions  to  the  vehement  spirit  and  rhetorical  boldness  of  Demosthenes 
and  the  other  orators  who  were  charged  with  having  received  money  from 
Harpalus.  Being,  in  the  beginning  of  his  career,  a  contemporary  of  An- 
tiphanes,  and  at  its  close,  of  Menander,  Timocles  may  properly  be  re- 
garded as  the  connecting  link  between  the  Middle  Comedy  and  the  New. 

It  may  be  proper  to  remark  that  there  were  two  comic  poets  of  this 


355  A.C.]  TIMOCLES.  399 

name,  to  one  of  whom  Suidas  ascribes  six  comedies,  and  to  the  other 
eleven ;  and  as  the  fragments  of  both  are  quoted  indiscriminately,  we 
shall  introduce  one  to  represent  each.  The  first  is  a  description  of  the 
illustrious  orator  Demosthenes,  and  we  shall  presume  it  is  a  fragment  of 
one  of  the  comedies  of  the  Athenian  Timocles  : 

Bid  rne  say  anything  rather  than  this; 
But  on  this  theme  Demosthenes  himself 
Shall  sooner  check  the  torrent  of  his  speech 
Than  I — Demosthenes !   that  angry  orator, 
That  bold  Briareus,  whose  tremendous  throat, 
Charged  to  the  teeth  jvith  battering  rams  and  spears, 
Beats  down  opposers :   brief  in  speech  was  he, 
But,  cross'd  in  argifcnent,  his  threatening  eyes 
Flash'd  fire,  while  thunder  vollied  from  his  lips. 

The  other  fragment  is  a  complimentary  allusion  to  the  powers  of  Tra- 
gedy, and  is  the  only  instance  of  the  kind  that  the  Greek  comedy  now 
furnishes.  This  passage  is  particularly  valuable,  not  only  for  its  intrinsic 
merit,  but  for  the  handsome  tribute  which  it  pays  to  the  moral  uses  of 
the  tragic  drama  : 

Nay,  my  good  friend,  but  hear  me.     I  confess 

Man  is  the  child  of  sorrow,  and  this  world, 

In  which  we  breathe,  hath  cares  enough  to  plague  us. 

But  it  hath  means  withal  to  soothe  these  cares, 

And  he  who  meditates  on  others'  woes 

Shall  in  that  meditation  lose  his  own ; 

Call,  then,  the  tragic  poet  to  your  aid, 

Hear  him,  and  take  instruction  from  the  stage ; 

Let  Telephus  appear ;   behold  a  prince 

A  spectacle  of  poverty  and  pain, 

Wretched  in  both. — And  what  if  you  are  poor  ? 

Are  you  a  demigod?   are  you  the  son 

Of  Hercules  ?   begone  !   complain  no  more. 

Doth  your  mind  struggle  with  distracting  thoughts  ? 

Do  your  wits  wander  ?   are  you  mad  ?     Alas  1 

So  was  Alcmaeon,  whilst  the  world  adored 

His  father  as  their  god.     Your  eyes  are  dim: 

What  then  ?   the  eyes  of  (Edipus  were  dark, 

Totally  dark.    You  mourn  a  son?   he's  dead: 

Turn  to  the  tale  of  Niobe  for  comfort, 

And  match  your  loss  with  hers.    You're  lame  of  foot;  f 

Compare  it  with  the  foot  of  Philoctetes, 

And  make  no  more  complaint.     But  you  are  old, 

Old  and  unfortunate.     Consult  CEneus : 

Hear  what  a  king  endured,  and  learn  content. 

Sum  up  your  miseries,  number  up  your  sighs. 

The  tragic  stage  shall  give  you  tear  for  tear, 

And  wash  out  all  afflictions  but  its  own. 


400  THE    NEW    COMEDY.  [LECT.  XV. 

With  the  Athenian  comic  poet,  Xenarckus,  we  conclude  our  remarks 
upon  the  writers  of  the  Middle  Comedy.  The  titles  of  eight  of  his 
plays,  and  a  few  brief  fragments  comprise  his  entire  remains.  Amongst 
these  fragments,  the  following  short  but  spirited  apostrophe  is  all  that  is 
suited  to  our  purpose : 

Ah,  faithless  woman!   when  you  swear, 
I  register  your  oaths  in  air. 


THE  NEW   COMEDY. 

The  order  of  the  comic  drama  of  Athens  to  which  our  attentioa  is  still 
to  be  directed  prevailed  from  the  period  <*f  the  accession  of  Alexander 
the  Great  to  the  throne  of  Macedon,  336  A.C.,  to  the  death  of  Menander, 
291  A.C. — about  forty-five  years — when  the  curtain  may  figuratively  be 
said  to  have  dropped  upon  all  the  glories  of  the  Athenian  stage.  Though 
the  last,  it  was  yet  a  brilliant  era ;  for  in  it  flourished  Menander,  Phile- 
mon, Diphilus,  Apollodorus,  Philippides,  and  Posidippus — poets  no  less 
celebrated  for  the  luxuriancy  than  for  the  elegance  of  their  genius — all 
writers  of  the  New  Comedy,  which,  if  it  had  not  all  the  art  and  fire  of  the 
old  satirical  drama,  produced  in  times  of  greater  public  freedom,  was, 
doubtless,  far  superior  to  it  in  delicacy,  regularity,  and  decorum.  All 
attacks,  as  we  have  already  observed,  upon  living  characters  ceased  with 
what  is  properly  denominated  the  Old  Comedy ;  the  writers  of  the  Mid- 
dle, contented  themselves  with  venting  their  raillery  upon  the  works  of 
their  dramatic  predecessors ;  but  the  New  Comedy  was  the  comedy  of 
manners,  and  resembled,  in  all  respects,  the  comedy  which  afterwards 
prevailed  amongst  the  Romans,  and  which  now  prevails  in  Great  Britain, 
France,  and  the  United  States. 

The  New  Comedy,  says  Schlegel,  in  a  certain  point  of  view,  maybe 
described,  as  the  Old  Comedy  tamed  down ;  but,  in  speaking  of  works  of 
genius,  tameness  does  not  usually  pass  for  praise.  The  loss  incurred  in 
the  interdict  laid  upon  the  old,  unrestricted  freedom  of  mirth,  the  newer 
comedians  sought  to  compensate  by  throwing  in  a  touch  of  earnestness 
borro'wed  from  tragedy,  as  well  in  the  form  of  representation,  and  the 
connection  of  the  whole,  as  in  the  impressions  which  they  aimed  at  pro- 
ducing. We  have  seen  how  tragic  poetry,  in  its  first  epoch,  borrowed  its 
tone  from  its  ideal  elevation,  and  came  nearer  to  common  reality,  both 
in  the  characters  and  in  the  tone  of  the  dialogue,  but  especially  as  it 
aimed  at  conveying  useful  instruction  on  the  proper  conduct  of  civil  and 
domestic  life,  in  all  their  several  consequences.  This  turn  towards  utility 
Aristophanes  has  invariably  commended  in  Euripides.  Euripides  was 
the  forerunner  of  the  New  Comedy :  the  poets  of  this  species  admired 


342A.C.]  MENANDER.  401 

him  especially,  and  acknowledged  him  fop  their  master.  Na/,  so  great  is 
this  affinity  of  tone  and  spirit,  between  Euripides  and  the  poets  of  the 
New  Comedy,  that  apophthegms  of  Euripides  have  been  ascribed  to  Me- 
nander,  and  vice  versa.  On  the  contrary,  we  find  among  the  fragments  of 
Menander  maxims  of  consolation,  which  rise  in  a  striking  manner  even 
into  the  tragic  tone.  The  New  Comedy,  therefore,  is  a  mixture  of  sport 
and  earnest.  The  poet  no  longer  makes  a  sport  of  poetry  and  the  world ; 
he  does  not  resign  himself  to  a  mirthful  enthusiasm,  but  he  seeks  the 
sportive  character  in  his  subject ;  he  depicts  in  human  characters  and 
situations  that  which  gives  occasion  to  mirth  :  in  a  word,  whatever  is 
pleasant  and  ridiculous. 

Menander,  the  most  distinguished  poet  of  the  New  Comedy,  was  the 
son  of  Diopeithes  and  Hegesistrate,  and  was  born  at  Athens  342  A.C. 
He  was  the  nephew  of  Alexis;  the  comic  poet,  on  his  father's  side,  and 
we  may  naturally  suppose  that  he  derived' from  his  uncle  his  taste  for  the 
comic  drama,  and  was  instructed  by  him  in  its  rules  of  composition.  His 
character  also,  must  have  been  greatly  influenced  and  formed  by  his  in- 
timacy with  Theophrastus  the  peripatetic,  and  Epicurus,  the  former 
being  his  teacher,  and  the  latter  his  intimate  friend.  That  his  tastes  and 
sympathies  were  altogether  with  the  philosophy  of  Epicurus  is  proved, 
among  many  other  indications,  by  his  elegant  epigram  on  *  Epicurus  and 
Themistocles.'  From  Theophrastus  he  must  have  derived  much  of  that 
skill  in  the  discrimination  of  character  which  we  so  much  admire  in  that 
philosopher,  and  which  formed  the  great  charm  of  the -comedies  of 
Menander.  His  master's  attention  to  external  elegance  and  comfort  he 
not  only  imitated,  but,  as  was  natural  in  a  man  of  elegant  person,  a  joy- 
ous spirit,  and  a  serene  and  easy  temper,  he  carried  it  to  the  extreme  of 
luxury  and  effeminacy. 

The  personal  beauty  of  Menander  is  proverbial,  though,  according  to 
Suidas,  his  vision  was  somewhat  disturbed.  He  is  represented  in  works 
of  sculpture  which  still  exist,  of  one  of  which,  preserved  in  the  Vatican, 
Schlegel  gives  the  following  description  : — '  In  the  excellent  portrait- 
statues  of.  two  of  the  most  famous  comedians,  Menander  and  Posidippus, 
the  physiognomy  of  the  Greek  New  Comedy  seems  to  me  to  be  almost 
visibly  and  personally  expressed.  They  are  seated  in  arm-chairs,  clad 
with  extreme  simplicity,  and  with  a  roll  in  the  hand,  with  that  ease  and 
careless  self-possession  which  always  marks  the  conscious  superiority  of 
the  master  in  that  maturity  of  years  which  befits  the  calm  and  impartial 
observation  which  comedy  requires,  but  sound  and  active,  and  free  from 
all  symptoms  of  decay ;  we  may  discern  in  them  that  hale  and  pithy 
vigor  of  body  which  bears  witness  to  an  equally  vigorous  constitution  of 
mind  and  temper;  no  lofty  enthusiasm,  but  no  folly  or  extravagance; 
on  the  contrary,  the  earnestness  of  wisdom  dwells  in  those  brows,  wrinkled 


26 


402  MENANDER.  [LECT.  XV. 

not  with  cafle,  but  with  the  exercise  of  thought,  while,  in  the  searching 
eye,  and  in  the  mouth,  ready  for  a  smile,  there  is  a  light  irony  which 
cannot  be  mistaken !' 

The  moral  character  of  Menander  has  been  greatly  aspersed  by  Suidas, 
Alciphron,  and  others,  but  Meineke  has  defended  it  with  very  consid- 
erable success.  One  thing  is  certain,  that  his  comedies,  so  far  as  we 
are  now  able  to  judge,  contain  nothing  offensive,  at  least  to  the  taste  of 
his  own  and  the  following  ages — none  of  the  purest  it  must  be  admitted 
— as  they  were  frequently  acted  at  private  banquets.  Whether  their 
being  eagerly  read,  as  Ovid  affirms  they  were,  by  the  youth  of  both 
sexes,  on  account  of  the  love  scenes  with  which  they  abound,  is  any 
confirmation  of  their  innocence,  may  at  least  be  doubted. 

Of  the  actual  events  of  Menander's  life  very  little  is  known.  He  en- 
joyed the  friendship  of  Demetrius-  Phalereus,  whose  attention  appears 
to  have  been  first  drawn  to  him  by  admiration  of  his  works.  This 
intimacy  was  attended,  however,  with  danger  as  well  as  honor,  for,  when 
Demetrius  Phalereus  was  expelled  from  Athens  in  307  A.C.  by'Demetrius 
Poliorcetes,  Menander  became  a  mark  for  the  sycophants,  and  would 
have  been  put  to  death  had  it  not  been  for  the  intercession  of  Teles- 
phorus,  the  son-in-law  of  Demetrius.  Ptolemy  Lagus,  king  of  Egypt,  was 
also  one  of  his  admirers,  and  invited  him  to  the  court  of  Alexandria  j  but 
Menander  declined  the  proffered  honor.  A  friendly  correspondence  was, 
however,  according  to  Suidas,  long  maintained  between  the  king  and  the 
poet.  The  death  of  this  eminent  writer  was  as  melancholy  as  his  life 
had  been  brilliant.  He  was  drowned  while  bathing  in  the  Pirfean 
harbor ;  and  we  learn  from  Alciphron,  that,  as  a  mark  of  distinguished 
honor,  he  was  buried  by  the  side  of  the  road  that  leads  from  the  Pi- 
raeus to  Athens. 

Notwithstanding  all  antiquity  concurs  in  placing  Menander  at  the 
head  of  the  comic  writers  of  his  time,  yet  his  contemporary  and  rival 
poets  so  frequently  triumphed  over  him,  that,  out  of  one  hundred  and 
nine  comedies,  he  obtained  but  eight  prizes.  His  preference  for  elegant 
exhibitions  of  character  above  coarse  jesting,  may  have  been  the  reason 
why  he  was  not  so  great  a  favorite  with  the  common  people  as  his  prin- 
cipal rival,  Philemon,  who,  it  is  more  than  intimated  by  several  ancient 
authof  s,  used  unfair  means  of  gaining  popularity.  Menander  appears, 
however,  to  have  borne  the  popular  neglect  very  lightly,  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  own  superiority;  and  on  one  occasion,  when  he  happened 
to  meet  Philemon,  he  is  said  to  have  asked  him,  <  Pray,  Philemon,  do 
not  you  blush  when  you  gain  a  victory  over  me  ?' 

Menander  is  remarkable  for  the  elegance  with  which  he  threw  into  the 
form  of  single  verses,  or  short  sentences,  the  maxims  of  that  practical 
wisdom  in  the  affairs  of  common  life  which  forms  so  important  a  feature 


342  A.C.]  MEtfANDER.  403 

of  the  New  Comedy.     Such  passages  must  necessarily  suffer  essentially 
in  the  translation,  but  the  following  are  very  close  to  the  original : 

You  say,  not  always  wisely,  Know  thyself: 
Know  others,  ofttimes,  is  the  better  maxim. 

Of  all  bad  things  with  which  mankind  are  curs'd, 
Their  own  bad  tempers  surely  are  the  worst. 

What  pity  'tis,  when  happy  Nature  rears 

A  noble  pile,  that  Fortune  should  o'erthrow  it! 

Abundance  is  a  blessing  to  the  wise;     . 
The  use  of  riches  in  discretion  lies. 
Learn  this,  ye  men  of  wealth — A  heavy  purse, 
In  a  fool's  pocket,  is  a  heavy  curse. 

If  you  would  know  of  what  frail  stuff  you're  made, 
Go  to  the  tombs  of  the  illustrious  dead ; 
There  rest  the  bones  of  kings,  there  tyrants  rot ; 
There  sleep  the  rich,  the  noble,  and  the  wise  ! 
There  pride,  ambition,  beauty's  fairest  form — 
All  dust  alike,  compound  one  common  mass : 
Reflect  on  these,  and  in  them  see  yourself. 

In  the  more  extensive  fragments  which  remain  of  the  poetry  of 
Menander,  little  else  is  seen  than  the  most  unfavorable  delineations  of 
human  character.  So  far  from  finding  those  facetious  and  sprightly  sal- 
lies to  be  expected  from  a  comic  writer — those  voluptuous  descriptions  to 
which  Pliny  alludes,  or  any  fragments  of  the  love-scenes  of  which  Ovid 
tells  us — we  meet  nothing  but  a  melancholy  display  of  the  miseries,  the 
enormities,  and  the  repinings  of  mankind.  What,  for  instance,  could  be 
more  gloomy  and  misanthropic  than  the  following  strain  of  discontent : 

Suppose  some  god  should  say — 'Die  when  thou  wilt, 

Mortal,  expect  another  life  on  earth; 

And,  for  that  life,  make  choice  of  all  creation 

What  thou  wilt  be;   dog,  sheep,  goat,  man,  or  horse; 

For  live  again  thou  must ;  it  is  thy  fate ; 

Choose  only  in  what  form ;   there,  thou  art  free ! 

So  help  me  Crato,  I  would  fairly  answer — 

Let  me  be  all  things,  anything  but  man!' 

He  only,  of  all  creatures,  feels  affliction. 

The  generous  horse  is  valued  for  his  worth, 

And  dog  by  merit,  is  preferred  to  deg ; 

The  warrior  cock  is  pampered  for  his  courage, 

And  awes  the  baser  brood.     But  what  is  man  ? 

Truth,  virtue,  valor,  how  do  they  avail  him? 

Of  this  world's  good,  the  first  and  greatest  share 

Is  flattery's  prize :   the  informer  takes  the  next, 

And  bare-faced  knavery    garbles  what  is  left. 


404  MENANDER.  [LEOT.  XV. 

I'd  rather  be  an  ass  than  what  I  am, 

And  see  these  villains  lord  it  o'er  their  betters. 

The  fragment  which  follows  is  in  the  same  tone,  though  it  is  colored  a 
little  nearer  to  the  hue  of  comedy : 

All  creatures  are  more  blest  in  their  condition, 

And  in  their  natures,  worthier  than  man. 

Look  at  yon  ass !     A  sorry  beast  you'll  say, 

And  such,  in  truth,  he  is — poor,    hapless    thing! 

Yet  these,  his  sufferings,  spring  not  from  himself, 

For  all  that  nature  gave  him  he  enjoys; 

Whilst  we,  besides  our  necessary  ills, 

Make  ourselves  sorrows  of  our  own  begetting. 

If  a  man  sneeze,  we're  sad — for  that's  ill-luck : 

If  he  traduce  us,  we  run  mad  with  rage ; 

A  dream,  a  vapor,  throws  us  into  terrors, 

And  let  the  night-owl  hoot,  we  melt  with  fear : 

Anxieties,  opinions,  laws,  ambition, 

All  these  are  torments  we  may  thank  ourselves  for. 

The  following  contemptuous  ridicule  upon  the  Pagan  ceremony  of  lus- 
tration, shows  that  Menander  had  a  much  higher  notion  of  the  being  and 
providence  of  God,  than  the  vulgar  herd  of  heathens  were  known  to 
entertain : 

If  your  complaints  were  serious,  'twould  be  well 
You  sought  a  serious  cure;   but  for  weak  miuds 
Weak  medicines  suffice.     Go,  call  around  you 
The  women  with  their  purifying  water ; 
Drug  it  with  salt  and  lentils,  and  then  take 
A  treble  sprinkling  from  the  holy  mess ; 
Now  search  your  heart;  if  that  reproach  you  not, 
Then,  and  then  only,  you  are*  truly  pure. 

In  Menander  and  the  other  comic  poets  of  Greece,  women  were  gener- 
ally spoken  of  with  the  utmost  disrespect,  from  which  we  infer  that  the 
Athenians,  with  all  their  refinement,  had  little  perception  of  the  purity 
and  elevation  of  female  character.  To  exemplify  this  remark  we  give  the 
following  passage : 

If  such  the  sex,  was  not  the  sentence  just, 

That  riveted  Prometheus  to  his  rock? 

Why  ?     For  what  crime  ?     A  spark,  a  little  spark ; 

But  oh,  ye  gods !   how  infinite  the  mischief —  . 

That  little  spark  gave  being  to  a  woman,  . 

And  let  in  a  new  race  of  plagues  to  curse  us. 

Where  is  the  man  that  weds  ?     Show  me  the  wretch ; 

Woe  to  his  lot ! — Insatiable  desires, 

His  nuptial  bed  defiled,  poisonings  and  plots, 


34'2A.C.]  MENANDEB.  405 

And  maladies  untold — these  are  the  fruits 
Of  marriage — these  the  blessings  of  a  wife. 

The  poet  who,  in  the  language  of  Cumberland,  can  thus  lend  his  wit  to 
libel  the  greatest  blessing  of  life,  may  well  be  ingenious  in  depreciating 
life  itself : 

The  lot  of  all  most  fortunate  is  his, 

Who,  having  staid  just  long  enough  on  earth 

To  feast  his  sight  with  the  fair  face  of  Nature, 

Sun,  sea,  and  clouds,  and  heaven's  bright  starry  — —m  ^j. 

Drops  without  pain  into  an  early  grave.  ?/^ 

For  what  is  life,  the  longest  life  of  man, 

But  the  same  scene  repeated  o'er  and  o'er  ? 

A  few  more  lingering  days  to  be  consumed 

In  throngs  and  crowds,  with  sharpers,  knaves,  and  thieves ; — 

From  -such  the  speediest  riddance  is  the  best. 

As  the  passages  hitherto  introduoed  from  this  poet  have  represented 
him  in  the  character  of  a  misanthropist,  it  is  no  more  than  justice  that 
we  should  now  exhibit  him  as  a  moralist ;  and  if  the  following  fragment 
suggests  no  new  ideas  upon  the  subject  of  Envy,  it  will  at  least  serve  to 
satisfy  us  that  mankind  in  all  ages  have  held  that  despicable  passion  in 
the  same  estimation : 

Thou  seem'st  to  me,  young  man,  not  to  perceive 
That  every  thing  contains  within  itself 
The  seeds  and  sources  of  its  own  corruption : 
The  cankering  rust  corrodes  the  brightest  steel ; 
The  moth  frets  out  your  garment,  and  the  worm 
Eats  its  slow  way  into  the  solid  oak; 
But  Envy,  of  all  evil  things  the  worst, 
The  same  to-day,  to-morrow,  and  forever, 
Saps  and  consumes  the  heart  in  which  it  lurks. 

In  the  next  fragment  an  old  man,  as  will  be  perceived,  is  reproved  for 
the  vice  of  covetousness.  In  the  manner  of  the  reproof  there  is  a  deli- 
cacy that  well  becomes  both  the  age  and  condition  of  the  speaker ;  for  he 
is  not  only  a  youth,  but  the  son  of  the  character  whom  he  addresses. 
This  fragment  is  from  the  comedy  entitled  Dyscolus,  or  The  Churl : 

Weak  is  the  vanity  that  boasts  of  riches, 

For  they  are  fleeting  things ;   were  they  not  such, 

Could  they  be  yours  to  all  succeeding  time, 

'Twere  wise  to, let  none  share  in  the  possession: 

But  if  whate'er  you  have  is  held  of  fortune, 

And  not  of  right  inherent,  why,  my  father, 

Why  with  such  niggard  jealousy  engross 

What  the  next  hour  may  ravish  from  your  grasp, 

And  cast  into  some  worthless  favorite's  lap  ? 

Snatch  then  the  swift  occasion  while  'tis  yours; 


406  PHILEMON.  [LBCT.  XV. 

Put  this  unstable  boon  to  noble  uses ; 

Foster  the  wants  of  men,  impart  your  wealth, 

And  purchase  friends ;   'twill  be  more  lasting  treasure, 

And,  when  misfortune  comes,  your  best  resource. 

The  following  fragment,  a  relic  of  The  Minstrel,  is  of  a  more  comic 
soxt,  and  is  pointed  at  the  same  vice : 

Ne'er  trust  me,  Phanias,  but  I  thought  till  now, 
That  you  rich  fellows  had  the  knack  of  sleeping 
A  good  sound  nap,  that  held  you  for  the  night; 
And  not  like  us  poor  rogues,  who  toss  and  turn, 
Sighing^  Ah  me !  and  grumbling  at  our  duns : 
But  now  I  find  in  spite  of  all  your  money, 
You  rest  no  better  than  your  needy  neighbors, 
And  sorrow  is  the  common  lot  o4?  all. 

We  have  but  one  more  specimen  to  introduce  of  the  poetry  of  Menan- 
der ;  but  this  is  the  more  valuable  from  its  having  been  quoted  by  Plu- 
tarch for  the  consolatory  advice  it  contains,  and  addressed  to  his  friend 
Apollonius.  The  lines  in  italics,  quoted  from  Shakspeare's  Julius  Caesar, 
not  only  correspond  with  the  exact  meaning  of  the  original,  but  are  also 
apposite  as  a  quotation  from  a  tragic  poet,  Menander  himself  having  ap- 
plied the  words  of  some  one  of  the  writers  of  tragedy,  probably  Euripi 
des: 

If  you,  0  Trophimus,  and  you  alone 

Of  all  your  mother's  sons  have  Nature's  charter, 

For  privilege  of  pleasures  uncontrol'd, 

With  full  exemption  from  the  strokes  of  Forfeuae, 

And  that  some  god  hath  ratified  the  grant, 

You  then  with  cause  may  vent  your  loud  reproach. 

For  he  hath  broke  your  charter  and  betray'd  you; 

But  if  you  live  and  breathe  the  common  air 

On  the  same  terms  as  we  do,  then  I  tell  you, 

And  tell  it  in  the  tragic  poet's  words — 
Of  your  philosophy  you  make  no  use, 
If  you  give  place  to  accidental  evils — 

The  sum  of  which  philosophy  is  this — 

You  are  a  man,  and  therefore  Fortune's  sport, 

This  hour  exalted  and  the  next  abased : 

You  are  a  man,  and  though  by  Nature  weak, 

By  nature  arrogant,  climBing  to  heights 

That  mock  your  reach  and  crush  you  in  the  fall. 

Nor  was  the  blessing  you  have  lost  the  best 

Of  all  life's  blessings,  nor  is  your  misfortune 

The  worst  of  its  afflictions ;  therefore,  Trophimus, 

Make  it  not  such  by  overstrained  complaints, 

But  to  your  disappointment  suit  your  sorrow. 

Philemon,  the  first  in  the  order  of  time,  and  the  second  in  celebrity, 
of  the  Athenian  comic  poets  of  the  New  Comedy,  was  the  son  of  Damon. 


360  A.C.]  PHILEMON.  40? 

and  was  born  at  Soli  in  Cilicia,  about  360  A.C.  He  removed,  at  an  early 
age,  however,  to  Athens,  and  soon  after  had  all  the  privileges  of  citizen- 
ship extended  to  him.  He  lived  to  the  extraordinary  age  of  one  hundred 
and  one  years,  and  composed  ninety-seven  .comedies — a  competent  num- 
ber, it  must  be  acknowledged,  though  not  to-be  compared  to  the  number 
of  Menander's  productions,  who,  in  half  that  time  wrote  one  hundred 
and  nine. 

The  longevity  of  Philemon  was  the  result  of  great  temperance  and  a 
placid  frame  of  mind.  Frugal  to  a  degree  that  subjected  him  to  the  charge 
of  avarice,  he  never  weakened  his  faculties  and  constitution  by  excess ; 
and  he  summed  up  all  his  wishes  in  the  following  rational  and  moderate 
petition  to  heaven,  which  throws  a  most  favorable  light  upon  his  charac- 
ter : — '  I  pray  for  health  in  the  first  place ;  in  the  next  for  success  in  my 
undertakings ;  thirdly,  for  a  cheerful  heart ;  and  lastly,  to  be  out  of 
debt  to  all  mankind.'  This  temperate  petition  seems  to  have  been 
literally  granted.  He  was  blessed  with  a  long  and  healthful  life  :  he 
was  successful  in  his  undertakings  to  a  degree  which,  posterity  seems 
to  think  was  above  his  merits  ;  and  he  triumphed  over  all  his  competitors, 
more,  perhaps,  through  the  suavity  of  his  manners,  than  from  any  actual 
superiority  of  his  talents.  That  he  was  of  a  gay  and  happy  spirit  there 
is  every  reason  to  believe ;  and  his  economy  secured  to  him  that  inde- 
pendent competency,  which  put  him  in  possession  of  the  final  object  of 
his  wishes. 

As  Philemon  lived  in  constant  serenity  of  mind,  so,  according  to 
jElian,  he  died  without  pain  of  body ;  for,  having  called  together  a 
number  of  his  friends  to  the  reading  of  a  play,  which  he  had  just  finished, 
and  sitting,  as  was  the  custom  in  that  serene  climate,  under  the  open 
canopy  of  heaven,  an  unexpected  shower  of  rain  fell  upon  the  company 
just  when  the  veteran  poet  had  entered  into  the  third  act  and  the  very 
warmest  interest  of  the  fable.  His  hearers,  disappointed  by  this  unlucky 
check  to  their  entertainment,  interceded  with  him  for  the  remainder  on 
the  day  following,  to  which  he  readily  assented ;  and  a  large  company 
being  then  assembled,  whom  the  fame  of  the  rehearsal  had  brought 
together,  they  sat  a  considerable  length  of  time  in  eager  expectation  of 
the  poet's  arrival,  till  wearied  out  with  waiting,  and  unable  to  account 
for  his  want  of  punctuality,  some  of  his  intimate  friends  were  dispatched 
in  quest  of  him — who,  on  entering  his  chamber,  found  the  old  man  dead 
on  his  couch,  in  his  usual  meditating  posture,  his  features  placid  and 
composed,  and  with  every  symptom  that  indicated  a  death  without  pain 
or  struggle.  His  death  occurred  262  A.C. 

The  fragments  which  we  possess  of  Philemon's  poetry  are,  in  general, 
of  a  sentimental,  tender  cast ;  and  though  they  enforce  sound  and  strict 
morality,  yet  no  one  instance  occurs  of  that  gloomy  misanthropy,  that 
harsh  and  dogmatizing  spirit,  which  too  often  marks  the  maxims  of  his 


408  PHILEMON.  [LEcrr.  XV. 

more  illustrious  rival.     The  following  thoughts  are  as  ingeniously  con- 
ceived as  they  are,  in  the  original,  happily  expressed : 

Extremes  of  fortune  are  true  wisdom's  test, 

And  he's  of  men  most  wise,  who  bears  them  best. 

If  what  we  have  we  use  not,  and  still  covet 
What  we  have  not,  we  are  cajoled  by  fortune 
Of  present  bliss,  of  future  by  ourselves. 

Two  words  of  nonsense  are  two  words  too  much ; 
WhoJ^t  volumes  of  good  sense  will  never  tire. 
What  multitudes  of  lines  hath  Homer  wrote  ? 
Yet  who  e'er  thought  he  wrote  one  line  too  much  ? 

1 

Still  to  be  rich  is  still  to  be  unhappy; 
Still  to  be  envied,  hated,  and  abused: 
Still  to  commence  new  lawsuits,  new  vexations: 
Still  to  be  carking,  still  to  be  collecting, 
Only  to  make  your  funeral  a  feast, 
And  hoard  up  riches  for  a  thriftless  heir. 
Let  me  be  light  in  purse  and  light  in  heart; 
Give  me  small  means,  but  give  content  withal, 
Only  preserve  me  from  the  law,  kind  gods, 
And  I  will  thank  you  for  my  poverty. 

The  following  animated  apostrophe  is  a  fragment  of  the  Ignifer : — 

Now  by  the  Gods,  it  is  not  in  the  power 
Of  painting  or  of  sculpture  to  express 
Aught  so  divine  as  the  fair  form  of  Truth  ! 
The  creatures  of  their  art  may  catch  the  eye, 
But  her  sweet  nature  captivates  the  soul. 

In  the  following  specimen  it  is  evident  that  the  -poet  has  reference  to 
^schylus : 

All  are  not  just  because  they  do  no  wrong, 

But  he  who  will  not  wrong  me  when  he  may,' 

He  is  the  truly  just     I  praise  not  them, 

Who  in  their  petty  dealings  pilfer  not ; 

But  him  whose  conscience  spurns  a  secret  fraud, 

When  he  might  plunder  and  defy  surprise : 

His  be  the  praise,  who,  loooking  down  with  scorn 

On  the  false  judgment  of  the  partial  herd, 

Consults  his  own  clear  heart,  and  boldly  dares 

To  be,  not  to  be  thought,  an  honest  man. 

The  next  passage  that  we  shall  produce  is  from  the  author's  Pyrrhus. 
No  other  fragment  of  Philemon's  poetry  with  which  we  are  familiar, 


360A.C.]  PHILEMON.  409 

breathes  so  soft  and  placid  a  spirit,  and  so  perfectly  harmonizes  with  the 
amiable  character  of  the  poet,  as  this  brief  extract  : 

Philosophers  consume  much  time  and  pains, 
To  seek  the  sovereign  good,  nor  is  there  one 
Who  yet  hath  struck  upon  it  :    Virtue  some, 
And  prudence  some  contend  for,  whilst  the  knot 
Grows  harder  by  their  struggle  to  untie  it. 
I,  a  mere  clown,  in  turning  up  the  soil, 
Have  dug  the  secret  forth.     All-gracious  Jove: 
Tis  Peace,  most  lovely,  and  of  all  beloved  ; 
Peace  is  the  bounteous  Goddess,  who  bestows 
"Weddings  and  holidays  and  joyous  feasts, 
Relations,  friends,  health,  plenty,  social  comforts, 
And  pleasures  which  alone  make  life  a  blessing. 

The  following  fragment  of  The  Ephebus,  preserved  by  Stobseus,  is  of  a 
mild  and  plaintive  character ;  and  though  it  speaks  the  language  of  the 
deepest  sorrow,  it  speaks,  at  the  same  time,  the  language  of  humanity. 
There  is  no  turbulence — no  invective  :  it  is  calculated  to  move  our  pity, 
not  excite  our  horror  : 

'Tis  not  on  them  alone  who  tempt  the  sea, 

That  the  storm  breaks,  it  whelms  even  us,  0  Laches, 

"Whether  we  pace  the  open  colonnade, 

Or  to  the  inmost  shelter  of  our  house, 

Shrink  from  its  rage.     The  ^llor  for  a  day, 

And  night,  perhaps,  is  bandied  up  and  down, 

And  then  anon  reposes,  when  the  wind 

Veers  to  the  wish'd-for  point,  and  wafts  him  home: 

But  I  know  no  repose ;   not  one  day  only, 

But  every  day,  to  the  last  hour  of  life, 

Deeper  and  deeper  I  am  plunged  in  woe. 

In  all  the  remains  of  this  interesting  author,  there  seems,  as  Cumber- 
land justly  remarks,  a  characteristic  gentleness  of  manners.  Where  he 
gives  advice,  it  is  recommended  rather  than  imposed :  his  reproofs  are 
softened  with  such  an  air  of  good  humor,  as  gives  a  grace  to  instruction, 
and  smiles  while  it  corrects.  Would  it  be  possible  for  experience  to 
tutor  indiscretion  in  milder  terms  than  the  following : 

O  Cleon,  cease  to  trifle  thus  with  life. 

A  mind  so  barren  of  experience, 

Can  hoard  up  naught  but  misery,  believe  me. 

The  shipwreck'd  mariner  must  sink  outright, 

Who  makes  no  effort  to  regain  the  shore ; 

The  needy  wretch  who  never  learn'd  a  trade, 

And  will  not  work,  must  starve —  What  then  ?  you  cry — 

My  riches — Frail  security — My  farms, 

My  houses,  my  estate  —Alas  1  my  friend, 


410  DIPHILUS.  [LECT.XV. 

Fortune  makes  quick  despatch,  and  in  a  day 

Can.  strip  you  bare  as  beggary  itself. 

Grant  that  you  now  had  piloted  your  bark 

Into  good  fortune's  haven,  anchor'd  there, 

And  moor'd  her  safe  as  caution  could  devise ;  % 

Yet  if  the  headstrong  passions  seize  the  helm 

And  turn  her  out  to  sea,  the  stormy  gusts 

Shall  rise  and  blow  you  out  of  sight  of  port, 

Never  to  reach  prosperity  again — 

What  tell  you  me  ?   have  I  not  friends  to  fly  to  ? 

I  have :    and  will  not  those  kind  friends  protect  me  ? 

Better  it  were  you  shall  not  need  their  service, 

And  so  not  make  the  trial:   much  I  fear 

Your  sinking  hand  would  only  grasp  a  shade. 

Diphilus  was  a  native  of  Sinope,  and  contemporary  with  Menander 
and  Philemon.  Clemens  and  Eusebius  applaud  him  for  his  comic  wit 
and  humor,  and  also  for  the  sententious  and  moral  character  of  his 
drama.  His  language  is  simple  and  elegant,  but  it  contains  many  de- 
partures from  Attic  purity.  He  was  the  author  of  one  hundred  comedies, 
thirty-two  titles,  and  some  very  considerable  fragments  of  which  have 
been  preserved.  His  death  occurred  at  Smyrna,  in  Ionia,  but  in  what 
year  is  uncertain.  Of  his  various  fragments  the  following  is  the  most 
perfect : 

We  have  a  notable  good  law  at  Corinth, 

Where,  if  an  idle  felloW  outruns  reason, 

Feasting  and  junketing  at  furious  cost, 

The  sumptuary  proctor  calls  upon  him, 

And  thus  begins  to  sift  him — You  live  well, 

But  have  you  well  to  live  ?     You  squander  freely, 

Hare  you  the  wherewithal?     Have  you  the  fund 

For  these  outgoings  ?     If  you  have,  go  on  1 

If  you  have  not,  we'll  stop  you  in  good  time, 

Before  you  outrun  honesty  ;   for  he 

Who  lives  we  know  not  how  must  live  by  plunder; 

Either  he  picks  a  purse,  or  robs  a  house, 

Or  is  accomplice*  with  some  knavish  gang, 

Or  thrusts  himself  in  crowds  to  play  th'  informer, 

And  puts  his  perjured  evidence  to  sale. 

This  a  well  order'd  city  will  not  suffer: 

Such  vermin  we  expel. — And  you  do  wisely : 

But  what  is  this  to  me? — Why,  this  it  is; 

Here  we  behold  you  every  day  at  work,  • 

Living  forsooth !  not  as  your  neighbors  live, 

But  richly,  royally,  ye  gods!    Why,  man, 

We  cannot  get  a  fish  for  love  or  money, 

You  swallow  the  whole  produce  of  the  sea ; 

You've  driven  our  citizens  to  browse  on  cabbage 

A  sprig  of  parsley  sets  them  all  a  fighting, 

As  at  the  Isthmian  games :  if  hare,  or  partridge, 


350  A.C.]  PHILIPPIDES.  411 

Or  but  a  simple  thrush  cornes  to  the  market, 
Quick,  at  a  word  you  snap  him.     By  the  gods! 
Hunt  Athens  through,  you  shall  not  find  a  feather 
But  in  your  kitchen;   and  for  wine,  'tis  gold — 
Not  to  be  purchased — We  may  drink  the  ditches. 

Apollodorus  of  Carystus,  in  Euboea,  another  of  Menander's  contem- 
poraries, was  a  writer  high  in  fame,  and  the  author  of  forty-seven  come- 
dies, the  titles  of  eight  of  which,  and  a  few  fragments,  remain.  That  he 
was  one  of  the  most  distinguished  poets  of  the  New  Comedy  is  evident 
from  the  fact,  that  Terence  took  his  Hecyra  and  Phormio  from  him.  He 
flourished  between  300  and  260  A.C.,  and  therefore  was  one  of  the  latest 
of  the  distinguished  writers  of  the  school  to  which  he  belonged.  From 
the  wreck  of  this  writer's  works  nothing  has  been  preserved  but  a  few 
such  brief  fragments  as  the  following  : 

Go  to !   make  fast  your  gates  with  bars  and  bolts ; 

But  never  chamber-door  was  shut  so  close 

But  cats  and  cuckold-makers  would  creep  through  it.  • 

How  sweet  were  life,  how  placid  and  serene, 
Were  others  but  as  gentle  as  ourselves : 
But  if  we  must  consort  with  apes  and  monkeys, 
We  must  be  brutes  like  them — 0  life  of  sorrow! 

• 

What  do  you  trust  to,  father?     To  your  money? 

•Fortune  indeed  to  those  who  have  it  not 

Will  sometimes  give  it :   but  'tis  done  in  malice, 

Merely  that  she  may  take  it  back  again. 

Youth  and  old  age  have  their  respective  humors; 
And  son  by  privilege  can  say  to  father,  ~ 

Were  you  not  once  as  young  as  I  am  now? 
Not  so  the  father  ;  he  cannot  demand, 
Were  you  not  once  as  old  as  I  am  now? 

In  the  following  natural  description  of  a  friendly  welcome  there  is 
something  extremely  pleasing : 

There  is  a  certain  hospitable  air 

In  a  friend's  house,  that  tells  me  I  am  welcome ; 

The  porter  opens  to  me  with  a  smile ; 

The  yard-dog  wags  his  tail,  the  servant  runs 

Beats  up  the  cushion,  spreads  the  couch,  and  says — 

Sit  down,  good  sir  !   ere  I  can  say  I'm  weary. 

Philippides,  a  native  Athenian,  and  the  son  of  Philocles,  was  another 
of  this  illustrious  band  of  contemporary  rival  authors.  Of  the  history 


412  PO  SID  IP  PUS.  [LECT.  XV. 

of  his  life  nothing  is  known,  and  his  extreme  sensibility  was  the  cause  of 
his  death ;  for  the  sudden  transport,  occasioned  by  the  unexpected  suc- 
cess of  one  of  his  comedies,  put  a  period  to  his  life  :  the  poet  was,  how- 
ever, at  the  time,  very  far  advanced  in  age.  Donatus  informs  us  that 
Philippides  was  in  the  highest  favor  with  king  Lysimachus,  between 
whom  and  the  poet  the  very  closest  intima*cy  subsisted.  '  What  is  there,' 
said  the  king  to  him  upon  one  occasion,  '  which  Philippides  would  wish 
I  should  impart  to  him  ?'  l  Anything,'  replied  the  poet,  {  but  your 
secrets.' 

Philippides,  according  to  Plutarch,  seems  to  have  deserved  the  rank 
assigned  to  him,  as  one  of  the  best  poets  of  the  New  Comedy.  He  at- 
tacked the  luxury  and  corruptions  of  his  age,  defended  the  privileges  of 
his  art,  and  made  use  of  personal  satire  with  a  spirit  approaching  to 
that  of  the  Old  Comedy.  Suidas  names  forty-five  as  the  number  of 
his  comedies,  the  titles  of  fifteen  of  which  are  still  extant ;  but  there 
are  no  fragments  remaining  that  require  a  farther  notice. 

Posidippus,  also  of  Athens,  though  born  at  Cassandria  in  Macedonia, 
was  the  son  of  Cyniscus,  and  one  of  the  six  poets  of  the  New  Comedy 
mentioned  by  the  Alexandrian  grammarians  as  the  most  celebrated  of 
that  school.  He  may  be  properly  regarded  as  the  last  of  the  comic 
poets  of  Greece,  and  it  was  not  until  three  years  after  the  death  of  Men- 
ander  that  he  began  to  exhibit  his  dramas,  and  posterior  to  him  we  know 
of  no  comic  poet  who  has  bequeathed  even  his  name  to  posterity. 

Of  the  events  of  this  poet's  life  nothing  is  now  known ;  but  his  por- 
trait is  preserved  to  us  in  the  beautiful  sitting  statue  in  the  Vatican, 
which,  with  the  accompanying  statue  of  Menander,  is  esteemed  by  the 
best  judges  as  among  the  finest  works  of  Greek  sculpture  which  have 
come  down  to  us.  Posidippus,  according  to  Suidas,  was  the  author  of 
forty  comedies, 0f  which  eighteen  titles  only  have  been  preserved.  The 
extant  fragments  of  these  plays  are  not  of  sufficient  extent  to  enable  us 
to  determine  from  them  any  one  of  the  author's  peculiarities. 

We  have  thus  brought  down  the  history  of  the  Attic  drama  from 
JEschylus  to  Menander,  and  in  closing  our  remarks  upon  this  depart- 
ment of  Grecian  literature,  we  cannot  refrain  from  reminding  you  of  the 
treasure  of  thought  and  life  here  unfolded  to  us — of  the  remarkable 
changes  effected,  not  only  in  the  forms  of  poetry,  but  in  the  inmost  re- 
cesses of  the  constitution  of  the  Greek  mind ;  and  how  great  and  signifi- 
cant a  portion  of  the  history  of  our  race  is  here  laid  before  us  in  the 
most  vivid  delineations. 


Kninn 


PHILOSOPHY. 

THALES.— ANAXIMANDER.— ANAXIMENES.-HERACLITUS.— ANAXAGORAS. 
— ARCHELAUS.—  PYTHAGORAS.—  SOCRATES.  —  ARISTIPPUS.—  EUCLID.— 
PH^IDO.  —  ANTISTHENES.  —  ZENO.  —  CHRYSIPPUS.  —  PLATO.  —  ARCESI- 
LAUS.—  CARNEADES.— ARISTOTLE.— XENOPHANES.— EPICURUS.— PYR- 
RHO. 

HAYINGr  closed  our  remarks  on  the  poets  and  the  poetry  of  Greece, 
we  shall  now  proceed  to  notice  briefly  her  philosophers,  her  orators, 
and  her  historians. 

Grecian  philosophy  was  not,  properly  speaking,  of  native  origin,  but 
was  introduced  by  the  various  colonies  which  early  migrated  into  that 
country  from  Egypt,  from  Phoenicia,  and  from  Thrace.  It  first  appeared 
in  the  poets  who  treated,  in  their  verse,  of  the  nature  of  things,  the  ori- 
gin of  the  world,  the  system  of  the  gods,  and  the  principles  of  morals. 
Linus,  Musseus,  Orpheus,  and  Hesiod  all  belong  to  this  class ;  and  even 
Homer  may  be  included  with  them.  The  poets  of  Greece,  it  may  there- 
fore be  truly  said,  were  her  first  philosophers ;  and  it  may  also,  with  pro- 
priety, be  remarked,  that  the  next  philosophers  were  her  priests  and 
legislators. 

Grecian  philosophy  had  a  religious  aspect  in  its  very  beginnings,  in  the 
fanciful  speculations  of  the  poets  respecting  the  origin  of  things,  and  the 
nature  and  offices  of  the  gods.  The  notion  of  a  multitude  of  supernatu- 
ral spirits,  having  each  an  appropriate  department  in  governing  the 
world,  could  not  but  affect  the  philosophical  reasonings  of  all  who  em- 
braced it ;  and  hence  it  was  perfectly  natural  to  inquire  how  these  agents 
would  make  known  their  will,  and  predict  to  man  the  future,  or  warn  him 
of  danger.  Thus  was  furnished  a  fruitful  field  of  speculation  upon  the 
various  subjects  of  augury,  omens,  oracles,  and  the  whole  system  of  divi- 
nation. The  ideas  which  became  incorporated  into  the  popular  belief, 
were,  indeed,  but  a  mass  of  absurdities  not  deserving  the  name  of  philos- 
ophy ;  yet  it  was  about  such  ideas  that  the  early  Greeks  expended  much 
thought,  or  rather  indulged  in  much  fancy.  Upon  this  foundation  arose 


414  PHILOSOPHY.  [Lucr.  XVI. 

a  curious  fabric — divination,  which,  under  the  ingenuity  of  priests,  who 
united  to  personal  shrewdness  and  foresight,  some  knowledge  of  physical 
nature — grew  into  a  sort  of  regular  science.  The  institutions  termed 
mysteries  had,  in  their  nature  and  design,  some  intimate  connection  with 
this  early  religious  philosophy. 

In  this  state  philosophy  remained,  until  the  progress  of  society  de- 
manded the  care  of  the  lawgiver,  and  furnished  the  talents  and  knowledge 
requisite  to  frame  successive  codes.  Then  the  moral  and  social  nature 
of  man  began  to  be  more  studied.  Reflecting  minds  investigated  the  mo- 
tives by  which  men  might  be  actuated,  and  contemplated  the  nature, 
proper  punishments,  and  preventives  of  crime,  the  theory  of  government 
and  education.  In  learning  the  character  of  this  political  philosophy,  we 
must  particularly  attend  to  the  civil  institutions  of  Lycurgus  and  Solon, 
and  the  character  and  doctrines  of  those  who  are  called,  by  way  of  emi- 
nence, the  Seven  Wise  Men  of  Greece. 

A  glance  at  the  institutions  of  Lycurgus  will  show  us  that  very  partic- 
ular care  was  bestowed  upon  the  training  of  youth  for  their  future  cir- 
cumstances ;  but  his  system  and  that  of  Solon  differed  widely  from  each 
other.  The  former  aimed  to  form  a  community  of  high-minded  warriors, 
while  the  latter  sought  rather  a  community  of  cultivated  scholars.  These 
different  designs  must  necessarily  have  varied  their  plans  of  education  ; 
and,  accordingly,  while  Lycurgus  enjoined  abstinence  and  hardships,  So- 
lon furnished  books  and  teachers.  It  must  not,  however,  be  forgotten, 
that  the  Spartan  system  was  two  hundred  years  earlier  than  the  Athe- 
nian, and  that  Grecian  social  intercourse  had  now  very  greatly  improved. 
1  The  Seven  Wise  Men  of  Greece,'  of  whom  Solon  himself  was  one  of  the 
most  distinguished,  belong  to  this  period.  They  were  all  actually  em- 
ployed as  magistrates  and  statesmen ;  but  they  were  also  the  philosophers 
of  the  age.  They  were  not  merely  speculative,  as  the  disciples  of  the 
different  sects  afterwards  were  ;  nor  did  they,  like  the  preceding  poets, 
indulge  in  fanciful  dreams  :  they  were  rather  men  of  shrewd  practical  ob- 
servation. Hence  the  character  of  their  philosophical  fragments,  which 
are  wholly  proverbial  maxims,  adapted  for  the  conduct  of  life,  in  manners 
and  morals.  Their  precepts  were  not  always  given  in  formal  statements, 
but  sometimes  clothed  in  symbolic  expressions,  which  were  understood  by 
those  only  to  whom  they  were  explained.  Fabulous  tales  also  were 
sometimes  employed  for  the  same  purpose ;  such  were  those  of  ^Esop,  in 
which  moral  and  political  maxims  are  drawn  out  into  allegory. 

Grecian  philosophy,  soon  after  the  age  of  Solon,  assumed  a  definite 
form,  and  was  taught  in  public  schools,  and  divided  into  various  sects. 
The  origin  of  different  schools  is  commonly  ascribed  to  the  clashing  inter- 
pretations which  were  put  upon  Homer  by  the  Rhapsodists,  who,  after 
rehearsing  passages  from  the  great  poet  and  master,  added  their  own  ex- 
planations and  comments.  As  these  interpreters  frequently  disagreed  in 


fl 


620  A.C.]  THALES.  415 

expounding  the  Homeric  philosophy,  they  naturally  divided  the  commu- 
nity of  their  hearers  into  different  parties  or  sects,  each  having  his  advo- 
cates among  those  who  did  not  belong  to  his  pa^Rilar  profession.  At 
length  two  very  eminent  men  arose,  and  became  each  the  head  of  a  school 
in  philosophy,  which  soon  absorbed  all  others.  These  men  were  Thales 
of  Miletus,  in  Ionia,  and  Pythagoras,  of  the  island  of  Samos.  Thales 
founded  the  Ionic  school,  and  Pythagoras,  the  Italic ;  and  to  these  two 
original  schools  all  the  various  sects  into  which  Grecian  philosophers 
were  afterwards  divided,  may  be  traced.  Of  these  two  schools  the  Ionic 
was  the  earlier  by  about  a  half  a  century. 

Thales,  the  founder  of  the  Ionic  school,  was  a  native  of  Miletus,  and 
was  born  in  the  early  part  of  the  seventh  century,  A.C.  He  was  of  an 
ancient  and  honorable  family,  inherited  great  wealth,  and  possessed  the 
highest  order  of  talents.  After  having  travelled  through  Crete,  Egypt, 
and  various  other  countries,  he  returned  to  his  na,tive  city,  and  thence- 
forth devoted  himself  exclusively  to  philosophical  pursuits.  As  one  of 
the  sages  of  Greece,  he  necessarily  devoted  much  of  his  time  and  thought 
to  political  philosophy ;  but  he  also  embraced,  in  the  range  of  his  instruc- 
tions, all  the  inquiries  of  the  Rhapsodists,  concerning  the  physical  and 
material  world.  Philosophy,  as  studied  in  this  school,  included,  in 
reality,  every  branch  of  science — not  only  morals  and  politics — but 
rhetoric,  mathematics,  astronomy,  and  all  that  is  now  comprehended 
under  natural  philosophy  and  natural  history. 

The  Seven  Sages,  of  whom  Thales  was  the  chief,  were  not  solitary 
thinkers,  whose  renown  for  wisdom  was  acquired  by  speculations  unintel- 
ligible to  the  mass  of  the  people.  Their  fame,  which  extended  over  all 
Greece,  was  founded  solely  on  their  acts  as  statesmen,  councillors  of  the 
people  in  public  affairs,  and  practical  men.  Thales'  sagacity  in  affairs 
of  State  and  public  economy  appears  from  many  anecdotes.  Herodotus 
says  that  at  the  time  when  the  lonians  were  threatened  by  the  power  of 
Cyrus,  king  of  Persia,  after  the  fall  of  Croesus,  Thales,  who  was  then  very 
old,  advised  them  to  establish  an  Ionian  capital  in  the  middle  of  their 
sea-coast,  somewhere  near  Teos,  where  all  the  affairs  of  their  race  might 
be  debated,  and  to  which  all  the  other  Ionian  cities  might  stand  in  the 
same  relation  as  the  Attic  minor  states, to  Athens. 

At  an  earlier  age,  Thales  is  said  to  have  foretold  to  the  lonians  the  • 
total  eclipse  of  the  sun,  which,  in  603  A.C.,  separated  the  Medes  from  the 
Lydians  in  the  battle  which  was  fought  by  Cyaxares  against  Alyattes. 
On  this  occasion  he  doubtless  employed  astronomical  formulae  which  he 
had  obtained  from  the  Chaldeans,  the  fathers  of  Grecian  astronomy ;  for 
his  own  knowledge  of  mathematics  could  hardly  have  been  sufficient  for 
such  purpose."  He  is  said,  however,  to  have  been  the  first  teacher  of  such 
problems  as  that  of  the  equality  of  the  angles  at  the  base  of  an  isosceles 
triangle.  The  general  tendency  of  Thales'  philosophy  was  practical ;  and 


I 

416  ANAXIMANDER.  [LECT.  XVI. 

where  his  own  knowledge  therefore  was  insufficient,  he  unhesitatingly  ap- 
plied the  discoveries  of  nations  more  advanced  than  his  own  in  natural 
sciences.  Thus,  he^lfc  the  first  who  advised  his  countrymen,  when  at 
sea,  not  to  steer  by  the  Great  Bear,  which  forms  a  considerable  circle 
round  the  Pole  ;  but  to  follow  the  example  of  the  Phoenicians,  his  own 
ancestors,  and  to  take  the  Lesser  Bear  for  their  Polar  star. 

As  Thales  was  not  a  poet,  nor  indeed  the  author  of  any  written  work, 
the  accounts  of  his  doctrine  rest  entirely  upon  the  testimony  of  his  contem- 
poraries and  immediate  successors ;  and  it  would  therefore  be  vain  to 
attempt  to  construct  from  them  a  system  of  natural  philosophy  according 
to  his  notions.  It  may,  however,  be  collected  from  these  traditions,  that 
he  considered  all  nature  as  endowed  with  life ;  for,  says  he,  '  Everything 
is  full  of  the  gods.'  As  proof  of  this  opinion,  he  cited  the  magnet  and 
amber,  on  account  of  their  magnetic  and  electric  properties.  It  also  ap- 
pears that  he  considered  water  as  the  general  principle  or  cause  of  all 
things ;  probably  because  it  sometimes  assumes  a  vapory,  and  sometimes 
a  liquid  form,  affording  thus  a  remarkable  example  of  change  of  outward 
appearance.  This  is  sufficient  to  show  that  Thales  broke  through  the 
common  prejudices  produced  by  the  impressions  of  the  senses;  and 
sought  to  discover  the  principle  of  external  forms  in  moving  powers  which 
lie  beneath  the  surface  of  appearances. 

Thales  died  540  A.C. ;  and  left,  as  his  immediate  successors,  Anaxi- 
mander, Anaximenes,  Heraditus,  Anaxagoras,  and  Archelaus  of  Miletus. 

Anaximander,  the  immediate  successor  of  Thales,  was  also  a  native  of 
Miletus,  and  was  born  611  A.C.  He  was  the  author  of  a  small  treatise 
upon  Nature — as  the  works  of  the  Ionic  physiologers  were  usually  called 
— which  he  wrote  in  the  sixty-fourth  year  of  his  age,  and  which  may  pro- 
perly be  regarded  as  the  earliest  philosophical  work  in  the  Greek  lan- 
guage ;  for  we  can  scarcely  give  that  name  to  the  mysterious  revelations 
of  Pherecydes.  This  work  was  probably  written  in  a  style  of  extreme 
conciseness ;  and  from  the  few  fragments  of  it  still  extant,  we  should  be 
inclined  to  think  that  the  language  was  better  suited  to  poetry  than 
to  prose.  The  astronomical  and  geographical  explanations  attributed  to 
Anaximander  were  probably  contained  in  this  treatise. 
•  Anaximander  possessed  a  gnomon,  or  sun-dial,  which  he  had  doubtless 
obtained  from  Babylon ;  and  sometime  after,  being  at  Sparta,  he  made 
observations,  by  which  he  determined  exactly  the  solstices  and  equinoxes, 
and  also  calculated  fhe  obliquity  of  the  ecliptic.  According  to  Eratos- 
thenes, he  was  the  first  who  attempted  to  draw  a  map  ;  in  which  his 
object  probably  was  rather  to  make  a  mathematical  division  of  the  whole 
earth,  than  to  lay  down  the  forms  of  the  different  countries  composing  it. 
According  to  Aristotle,  Anaximander  thought  that  there  were  innumerable 
worlds  which  he  called  gods,  supposing  these  worlds  to  be  beings  endowed 


600  A.C.]  ANAXIMENES.  417 

with  an  independent  power  of  motion.  He  also  thought  that  existing 
worlds  were  always  perishing,  and  that  new  worlds  were  always  springing 
into  being;  so  that  motion  was  perpetHal.  j^Bording  to  his  views, 
these  worlds  arose  out  of  an  eternal  or  indeterminable  substance,  out 
of  which  all  things  arose,  and,  by  excluding  all  attributes  and  limita- 
tions, all  things  must  return.  Hence  he  remarks,  '  All  existing  things 
must,  in  justice,  perish  in  that  in  which  they  had  their  origin ;  for  one 
thing  is  always  punished  by  another  for  its  injustice  in  setting  itself  in 
the  place  of  another,  according  to  the  order  of  time.' 

Anaximenes,  the  third  in  the  series  of  Ionian  philosphers,  was  also  a 
native  of  Miletus,  and  was  intimate  with  both  Thales  and  Anaximander  ; 
for,  besides  the  common  tradition  which  makes  him  a  disciple  of  the  lat- 
ter, Diogenes  Laertius  quotes  at  length  two  letters  said  to  have  been 
written  by  him  to  Pythagoras,  in  one  of  which  he  gives  an  account  of 
the  death  of  Thales,  speaking  of  him  with  reverence,  as  the  first  of  philos- 
ophers, and  as  having  been  his  own  teacher.  In  the  other,  he  congratu- 
lates Pythagoras  on  his  removal  from  Samos  to  Crotona,  while  he  was 
himself  at  the  mercy  of  the  tyrants  of  Miletus,  and  was  looking  forward 
with  fear  to  the  approaching  war  with  the  Persians,  in  which  he  foresaw 
that  the  lonians  must  be  eventually  subdued.  Of  the  exact  period  of 
his  birth  and  death,  we  have  no  reliable  testimony ;  but  since"  there  is 
sufficient  evidence  that  he  was  the  teacher  of  Anaxagoras  in  480  A.C., 
and  was  in  repute  as  early  as  544  A.C.,  he  must  have  lived  to  a  very 
great  age. 

Like  the  other  early  Greek  philosophers,  Anaximenes  employed  him- 
self in  speculating  upon  the  origin,  and  accounting  for  the  phenomena, 
of  the  universe ;  and  as  Thales  held  water  to  be  the  material  cause  out 
of  which  the  world  was  made,  so  Anaximenes  considered  air  to  be  the 
first  cause  of  all  things — the  primary  form  of  matter,  into  which  the  other 
elements  of  the  universe  were  resolvable.  Both  these  philosophers  seem 
to  have  thought  it  possible  to  simplify  physical  science,  by  tracing  all 
material  things  up  to  a  single  element :  while  Anaximander,  on  the  con- 
trary, regarded  the  substance  out  of  which  the  universe  was  formed,  as  a 
mixture  of  all  elements  and  qualities.  The  process  by  which,  according 
to  Anaximenes,  finite  things  were  formed  from  the  infinite  air,  was  that 
of  compression  and  rarefaction  produced  by  motion,  which  had  existed 
from  all  eternity :  thus  the  earth  was  created  out  of  air,  made  dense ; 
and  from  the  earth  the  sun  and  the  other  heavenly  bodies  proceeded. 

According  to  the  same  theory,  heat  and  cold  were  produced  by  differ- 
ent degress  of  density  of  the  primal  element :  the  clouds  were  formed  by 
the  thickening  of  the  air  \  and  the  earth  was  kept  in  its  place  by  the  sup- 
port of  the  air  beneath  it,  and  by  the  flatness  of  its  shape.  Hence  it  ap- 
pears that  Anaximenes,  like  his  predecessors,  held  the  eternity  of  matter : 
nor  indeed  does  he  seem  to  have  believed  in  the  existence  of  anything  im- 

27 


418  HERACLITUS.  [LECT.  XVI 

material  5  for  even  the  human  soul,  according  to  his  theory,  is  like  the 
body, formed  of  air;  and  he  saw  no  necessity  for  supposing  an  Agent  in 
the  work  of  creation,  tauice  he*held  that  motion  was  a  natural  and  neces- 
sary law  of  the  universe.  Plutarch  therefore  properly  blames  both  him 
and  Anaximander,  for  assigning  only  the  material,  and  no  efficient,  cause 
of  the  world  in  their  philosophical  systems. 

Heraclitus,  a  person  of  far  greater  importance  in  the  history  of 
Grecian  philosophy  than  any  hitherto  noticed,  was  a  native  of  Ephesus, 
and  nourished  about  505  A.C.  He  composed  a  regular  treatise  Upon 
Nature,  and  dedicated  it  to  the  native  goddess  of  Ephesus,  the  great 
Artemis — as  if  such  a  destination  were  alone  worthy  of  it ;  and  he  did  not 
consider  it  worth  his  while  to  give  it  to  the  public. 

In  his  personal  character,  Heraclitus,  according  to  the  concurrent 
tradition  of  antiquity,  was  a  proud  and  reserved  man,  and  disliked  all 
interchange  of  ideas  with  others.  He  thought  that  the  profound  cogita- 
tions on  the  nature  of  things  which  he  had  made  in  solitude,  were  far 
more  valuable  than  all  the  information  which  he  could  gain  from  other 
men.  l  Much  learning,'  said  he,  *  does  not  produce  wisdom  ;  otherwise  it 
would  have  made  Hesiod  wise,  and  Pythagoras,  and  again,  Xenophanes 
and  Hecatseus.'  He  dealt  rather  in  intimations  of  important  truths,  than 
in  popular  expositions  of  them,  such  as  the  other  Ionian  philosophers 
preferred.  His  language  was  prose  only  in  so  far  as  it  was  free  from 
metrical  shackles ;  but  its  expressions  were  bolder,  and  its  tone  more  ani- 
mated than  those  of  many  poems. 

The  cardinal  doctrine  of  Heraclitus'  natural  philosophy  seems  to  have 
been,  that  everything  is  in  perpetual  motion — that  nothing  has  any  stable 
or  permanent  existence,  but  that  everything  is  constantly  assuming  a  new 
form,  or  perishing.  {  We  step,'  says  he,  in  his  symbolical  language,  '  into 
the  same  rivers,  and  we  do  not  step  into  them.  We  are,  and'are  not.' 
By  the  first  of  these  expressions  he  doubtless  refers  to  the  constant 
change  of  the  water,  and  by  the  second,  to  the  fact  that  no  point  in  our 
existence  remains  fixed.  Hence,  every  sensible  object  appeared  to  him, 
not  as  something  individual,  but  only  as  another  form  of  something  else. 
'  Fire,'  he  again  remarks,  { lives  the  death  of  the  earth ;  air  lives  the 
death  of  fire  ;  water  lives  the  death  of  air  ;  and  the  earth,  that  of  water.' 
His  meaning  here  seems  to  be,  that  individual  things  are  only  different 
forms  of  a  universal  substance,  which  usually  destroy  each  other.  In 
like  manner  he  said  of  men  and  gods,  '  Our  life  is  their  death ;  their  life 
is  our  death ;'  or,  in  other  words,  men  were  gods  that  had  died,  and  gods 
were  men  raised  to  life.  These  notions,  it  will  readily  be  perceived,  are 
atheistical  in  the  highest  degree,  and  as  such  are  to  be  condemned ;  but 
still  they  discover  much  deep  and  searching  thought. 

Looking  for  the  principle  of  perpetual  motion  in  natural  phenomena, 
Heraclitus  supposed  it  to  be  fire ;  though  he  probably  meant,  not  the  fire 


500A.C.]  ANAXAGORAS.  ,  419 

perceptible  to  the  senses,  but  a  higher  and  more  universal  agent.  For, 
as  we  have  already  seen,  he  conceived  the  sensible  fire  as  living  and 
dying,  like  the  other  elements ;  but  of  the  igneous  principle  of  life  he  re- 
marks, '  The  unchanging  order  of  all  things  was  made  neither  by  a  god  . 
nor  a  man,  but  it  has  always  been,  is,  and  will  be  the  living  fire,  which 
is  kindled  and  extinguished  in  regular  succession.'  But  Heraclitus  did 
not  conceive  this  continual  motion  to  be  the  work  of  mere  chance,  for  he 
expressly  declares  that  it  is  directed  by  a  Fate,  which  guided  '  the  way 
upwards  and  downwards,'  or  successively  produced  and  destroyed. 
Hence,  he  observes,  *  The  sun  will  not  overstep  its  path ;  if  it  did,  the 
Erinnyes,  the  allies  of  justice  would  find  it  out.'  He  recognized  in 
motion  an  eternal  law,  which  was  maintained  by  the  supreme  powers  of 
the  universe.  In  this  respect  the  followers  of  JEeraclitus  appear  to  h^e 
departed  from  the  wise  example  of  their  teacher  ;  for,  according  to  Plato, 
who  calls  them  '  the  runners,'  the  exaggerated  Heraclitus  aimed  at  prov- 
ing a  perpetual  change  and  motion  in  all  things. 

Heraclitus,  like  most  of  the  Greek  philosophers,  despised  the  popular 
retigion.  Their  object  was,  by  arguments  derived  from  their  immediate 
experience,  to  emancipate  themselves  from  all  traditional  opinions,  which 
included  not  only  superstition  and  prejudices,  but  also,  some  of  the  most 
valuable  truths.  Heraclitus  boldly  rejected  the  whole  ceremonial  of  the 
Greek  religion ;  saying,  his  countrymen  '  worship  images  :  just  as  if  any 
one  were  to  converse  with  houses.'  The  opinions  of  Heraclitus  on  the 
important  question  of  the  relation  between  mind  and  body,  agreed  with 
the  popular  religion,  and  with  the  prevailing  notions  of  the  Greeks.  The 
primitive  beings  of  the  world  were,  in  the  popular  creed,  both  spiritual 
powers  and  material  substances ;  and  Heraclitus  conceived  the  original 
matter  of  the  world  to  be  the  source  of  life. 

Anaxagoras,  soon  after  the  age  of  Heraclitus,  rejected  all  the  popular 
notions  on  religion,  and  struck  into  a  new  path  of  speculation  on  sacred 
things.  Similar  opinions  had,  indeed,  been  previously  entertained  in  the 
East,  and,  in  particular,  the  Mosaic  conceptions  of  the  Deity  and  the  world 
belongs  to  the  same  class  of  religious  views.  But  among  the  Greeks  these 
views,  which  the  Christian  religion  has  made  so  familiar  in  modern  times, 
were  first  introduced  by  Anaxagoras,  and  were  presented  by  him  in  a  phi- 
losophical- form ;  and  having  been,  from  the  beginning,  more  opposed  than 
the  doctrines  of  former  philosophers  to  the  popular  mythological  religion, 
they  tended  powerfully,  by  their  rapid  diffusion,  to  undermine  the  princi- 
ples upon  which  the  entire  worship  of  the  ancient  gods  rested,  and  there- 
fore prepared  the  way  for  the  subsequent  triumph  of  Christianity. 

Anaxagoras,  the  disciple  of  Anaximenes,  was  born  at  Clazomenae,  in 
Ionia,  500  A.C.  His  father,  Hegesibulus,  left  him  in  the  possession  of 
considerable  property,  but  as  he  intended  to  devote  his  life  to  higher  ends 


420  ,  ANAXAG-ORAS.  [LECT.  XVL 

he  gave  it  up  to  his  relatives,  as  something  which  ought  not  to  engage 
his  attention.  He  is  said  to  have  gone  to  Athens  at  the  age  of  twenty, 
during  the  contest  of  the  Greeks  with  Persia,  and  to  have  lived  and 
taught  in  that  city  for* a  period  of  thirty  years.  He  became  here  the 
intimate  friend  and  teacher  of  the  most  eminent  men  of  the  time,  such  as 
Euripides  and  Pericles;  but  while  he  thus  gained  the  friendship  and 
admiration  of  the  most  enlightened  Athenians,  the  majority,  uneasy  at  be- 
ing disturbed  in  their  hereditary  superstitions,  soon  found  reasons  for 
complaint. 

The  principal  cause  of  hostility  towards  him  must,  however,  be  looked 
for  in  the  following  circumstance  : — As  he  was  a  friend  of  Pericles,  the 
party  which  was  dissatisfied  with  his  administration,  seized  upon  the 
deposition  of  the  people  towards  the  philosopher,  as  a  favorable  opportu- 
nity for  striking  a  blow  at  the  great  statesman.  Anaxagoras  was,  there- 
fore, accused  of  impiety.  His  trial  and  its  results  are  matters  of  the 
greatest  uncertainty  on  account  of  the  different  statements  of  the  ancients 
themselves.  It  seems  probable,  however,  that  Anaxagoras  was  accused 
twice- — once  on  the  ground  of  impiety,  and  a  second  time  on  that  of  par- 
tiality to  Persia.  In  the  first  place  it  was  owing  to  the  influence  and  elo- 
quence alone  of  Pericles  that  he  was  not  put  to  death ;  but  he  was  sen- 
tenced to  pay  a  fine  of  five  talents,  and  to  quit  Athens. 

Anaxagoras,  on  leaving  Athens,  retired  to  Lampsacus,  and  it  was  dur- 
ing his  absence  that  a  second  charge  was  brought  against  him,  in  conse- 
quence of  which  he  was  condemned  to  death.  He  received  the  intelligence 
of  his  sentence  with  a  smile,  and  died  at  Lampsacus  three  years  after,  in 
the  seventy-second  year  of  his  age,  428  A.C. 

The  only  work  of  Anaxagoras  of  which  we  have  any  knowledge,  was  his 
Treatise  on  Nature.  It  was  written  at  Athens,  late  in  life,  and  was 
composed  in  the  Ionic  dialect,  in  prose,  after  the  manner  of  Anaximenes. 
The  copious  fragments  of  this  work  extant,  exhibit  short  sentences,  con- 
nected by  particles,  without  long  periods.  But  though  the  style  of  Anax- 
agoras was  loose,  his  reasoning  was  compact  and  well  arranged.  His  dem- 
onstrations were  synthetic,  not  analytic ;  that  is,  he  subjoined  the  proof  of 
the  proposition  to  be  proved,  instead  of  arriving  at  his  result  by  a  process 
of  inquiry.  His  philosophy  began  with  his  doctrine  of  atoms,  which,  con- 
trary to  the  opinions  of  his  predecessors,  he  considered  as  limited  in 
number.  He  was  the  first  to  exclude  the  idea  of  creation  from  Jiis  expla- 
nation of  nature.  {  The  Greeks,'  he  remarked,  *  were  mistaken  in  their 
doctrine  of  creation  and  destruction ;  for  nothing  is  either  created  or  de- 
stroyed, but  it  is  only  produced  from  existing  things  by  mixture,  or  it  is 
dissolved  by  separation.  They  should,  therefore,  rather  call  creation  a 
conjunction,  and  destruction  a  dissolution.' 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  that  Anaxagoras,  with  this  opinion,  must  have 
arrived  at  the  doctrine  of  atoms  which  were  unchangable  and  imperish- 
able, and  which  were  mixed  and  united,  in  bodies  in  different  ways.  But 


473  A.C.]  ARCHELAUS.  421 

since,  from  the  want  of  chemical  knowledge,  he  was  unable  to  determine 
the  component  parts  of  bodies,  he  supposed  that  each  separate  body,  as 
bone,  flesh,  wood,  and  stone,  consisted  of  corresponding  particles.  But 
to  explain  the  production  of  one  thing  from  another  he  was  obliged  to 
assume  that  all  things  contained  a  portion  of  all  other  things,  and  that 
the  particular  form  of  each  body  depended  upon  the  preponderating  in- 
gredient. As  Anaxagoras,  therefore,  maintained  the  doctrine  that  bodies 
are  mere  matter,  without  any  spontaneous  power  of  change,  he  also  re- 
quired a  principle  of  life  and  motion  beyond  the  material  world.  This 
principle  he  called  spirit,  which,  he  says,  is  '  the  purest  and  most  subtle 
of  all  things,  having  the  most  knowledge  and  the  greatest  strength.' 
*  Spirit,'  he  farther  remarks, '  does  not  deny  the  universal  power  of  mixing 
with  all  things ;  for,  though  it  exists  in  inanimate  beings,  yet  it  is  not  so 
closely  combined  with  the  material  atoms  as  these  are  with  each  other.' 

This  spirit,  according  to  Anaxagoras,  gave  to  all  those  material  atoms, 
which  in  the  beginning  of  the  world  lay  in  disorder,  the  impulse  by  which 
they  took  the  forms  of  individual  things  and  beings.  He  considered  this 
impulse  as  having  been  given  by  the  spirit  in  a  circular  direction  5  and, 
according  to  his  opinion,  not  only  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  but  even  the 
air  and  the  sether,  are  constantly  moving  in  a  circle.  He  farther  thought 
that  the  power  of  this  circular  motion  kept  all  these  heavenly  bodies, 
which  he  supposed  to  be  masses  of  stone,  in  their  courses.  This  doctrine 
was  extremely  offensive  to  the  Greeks,  particularly  the  idea  that  the  sun, 
the  bountiful  Helios,  who  shines  upon  both  mortals  and  immortals,  was 
a  mass  of  red-hot  iron. 

How  startling  must  these  opinions  have  appeared  at  a  time  when  the 
people  were  accustomed  to  consider  nature  as  pervaded  by  a  thousand 
divine  powers  !  And  yet  these  new  doctrines  rapidly  gained  the  ascend- 
ancy, notwithstanding  the  severe  opposition  of  religion,  poetry,  and  even 
the  laws,  which  were  intended  to  protect  the  ancient  customs  and  opin- 
ions. A  century  later,  Anaxagoras,  with  his  doctrine  of  spirit,  appeared 
to  Aristotle  a  sober  inquirer  as  compared  with  the  wild  speculators  who 
preceded  him  ;  although  Aristotle  was  aware  that  his  applications  of  his 
doctrines  were  unsatisfactory  and  defective.  For  as  Anaxagoras  en- 
deavored to  explain  natural  phenomena,  and  in  this  endeavor  he,  like 
other  natural  philosophers,  extended  the  influence  of  natural  causes  to 
its  utmost  limits,  he,  of  course,  attempted  to  explain,  as  much  as  possible, 
by  his  doctrine  of  circular  motion,  and  to  have  recourse,  as  rarely  as 
possible,  to  the  agency  of  spirit.  Indeed  it  appears  evident  that  he  only 
introduced  the  latter  when  all  other  means  of  explanation  failed. 

Archelaus  was  the  son  of  Myson,  and  was  born  at  Athens  about  473 
A.C.  He  is  frequently  called  Physicus,  from  having  been  the  first  native 
Athenian  who  taught  in  Athens  the  physical  doctrines  of  the  Ionian 
school  of  philosophy.  Before  the  public  trial  of  Anaxagoras,  Archelaus 


422  ARCHELAUS.  [LECT.  XVI. 

was  settled  in  his  profession  at  Lampsacus  5  Ibut  on  the  withdrawal  of  his 
great  predecessor  from  Athens  in  450  A.C.,  he  returned  to  his  native  city, 
commenced  giving  philosophical  instruction  there,  and  is  said  to  have 
numbered  among  his  pupils  both  Socrates  and  Euripides. 

The  doctrine  of  Archelaus  is  remarkable  as  forming  a  point  of  transi- 
tion from  the  older  to  the  newer  form  of  philosophy  of  Greece.  In  the 
mental  history  of  all  nations  it  is  observable  that  scientific  inquiries  are 
first  confined  to  natural  objects,  and  afterwards  pass  into  moral  specula- 
tions ;  and  so,  among  the  Greeks,  the  lonians  were  occupied  with  phy- 
sics, the  Socratic  school  chiefly  with  ethics  Archelaus  is  the  union  of  the 
two  :  he  was  the  last  recognized  leader  of  the  former,  and  added  to  the 
physical  system  of  his  teacher,  Anaxagoras,  some  attempts  at  moral 
speculations.  He  held  that  air  and  infinity  are  the  principle  of  all 
things ;  and  by  this  statement  he  intended  to  exclude  the  operations  of 
mind  from  the  creation  of  the  world.  If  so,  he  abandoned  the  doctrine 
of  Anaxagoras  in  its  most  important  point ;  and  it  therefore  seems  safer 
to  conclude,  that  while  he  wished  to  inculcate  the  materialist  notion  that 
the  mind  is  formed  of  air,  he  still  held  infinite  mind  to  be  the  cause  of 
all  things.  This  explanation  has  the  advantage  of  agreeing  very  fairly 
with  that  of  Simplicius ;  and  as  Anaxagoras  himself  did  not  accurately 
distinguish  between  mind  and  the  animal  soul,  this  confusion  may  have 
given  rise  to  his  pupil's  doctrine. 

Archelaus  deduced  motion  from  the  opposition  of  heat  and  cold,  caused, 
of  course,  if  we  adopt  the  above  hypothesis,  by  the  will  of  the  material 
mind.  This  opposition  separated  fire  and  water,  and  produced  a  strong 
mass  of  earth.  While  the  earth  was  hardening,  the  action  of  heat  upon 
its  moisture  gave  birth  to  animals,  which  at  first  were  nourished  by  the 
mud  from  which  they  sprang,  and  gradually  acquired  the  power  of  propa- 
gating their  species.  All  these  animals  were  endowed  with  mind,  but 
man  separated  from  the  others,  and  established  laws  and  societies.  It  was 
just  from  this  point  of  his  physical  theory  that  he  seems  to  have  passed 
into  ethical  speculations,  assigning  the  same  origin  to  the  principles  of 
right  and  wrong  that  he  assigns  to  man.  Now,  a  contemporaneous  origin 
with  that  of  the  human  race  is  not  very  different  from  what  a  sound  sys- 
tem of  philosophy  would  demand  from  these  ideas,  though,  of  course, 
such  a  system  would  maintain  quite  another  origin  of  man  5  and,  there- 
fore, assuming  the  Archelaic  physical  system,  it  does  not  necessarily  fol- 
low, that  his  ethical  principles  are  so  destructive  of  all  goodness  as  they 
appear.  This  view  is  made  almost  certain  by  the  fact  that  Democritus 
taught,  that  the  ideas  of  sweet  and  bitter,  warm  and  cold,  and  other  op- 
posites,  are  by  spirit,  which  can  be  accounted  for  only  by  a  similar  sup- 
position. Of  the  other  doctrines  of  Archelaus  we  need  only  mention, 
that  he  asserted  the  earth  to  have  the  form  of  an  egg,  the  sun  being  the 
largest  of  the  stars ;  and  that  he  correctly  accounted  for  speech  by  the 


570A.C.]  PYTHAGORAS.  423 

motion  of  the  air.     For  this,  according  to  Plutarch,  he  was  indebted  to 
Anaxagoras. 

From  this  brief  notice  of  Ionian  philosophy,  and  of  its  principal 
teachers,  we  pass  to  the  Italic  sect,  or  school,  which  soon  became  much 
more  celebrated  than  its  eastern  rivals.  Pythagoras  its  founder  was  a 
native  of  the  Island  of  Samos,  but  early  went  to  Crotona,  in  Italy, 
where  he  established  his  school  about  540  A.C.  His  pupils  increased  so 
rapidly  that  they  soon  numbered  six  hundred,  all  of  whom  resided  in  one 
public  building,  and  held  their  property  in  common.  They  were  divided 
into  two  classes,  probationers  and  initiated — the  latter  only  being  admit- 
ted to  all  the  privileges  of  the  order,  and  made  acquainted  with  the 
highest  knowledge.  After  subsisting  several  years,  the  establishment  was 
at  length  broken  up  by  popular  violence. 

Under  the  name  of  philosophy  the  Italic  school,  like  the  Ionic,  em- 
braced every  object  of  human  knowledge.  But  Pythagoras  considered 
music  and  astronomy  of  special  value.  He  is  supposed  to  have  had 
some  very  correct  views  of  astronomy,  agreeing  with  the  true  Coper  - 
nican  system.  The  beautiful  fancy  of  the  music  of  the  spheres  is  at- 
tributed to  him.  The  planets  striking  on  the  aether,  through  which 
they  pass,  must  produce  a  sound ;  this  must  vary  according  to  their 
different  magnitudes,  velocities,  and  relative  distances ;  these  differences 
were  all  adjusted  with  perfect  regularity  and  exact  proportions,  so  that 
the  movements  of  the  bodies  produced  the  richest  tones  of  harmony ;  not 
heard,-  however,  by  mortal  ears. 

One  of  the  distinguishing  peculiarities  of  Pythagoras  was  the  doctrine 
of  emanations  ;  or,  that  God  is  the  soul  of  the  universe,  pervading  all 
things  incorporeal,  and  from  him  emanated  four  different  degrees  of  intel- 
ligences—inferior  gods,  dcemons,  heroes,  and  men.  Another  peculiarity 
was  the  doctrine  of  transmigration  of  the  soul.  As  practical  principles, 
general  abstinence  and  self-denial  were  strongly  urged. 

Pythagoras  was  the  son  of  Mnesarchus,  and  was  born  in  the  island  of 
Samos,  570  A.C.  He  early  evinced  a  great  desire  for  knowledge;  and 
having  exhausted  all  the  sources  of  information  which  his  native  island 
afforded,  he,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  set  out  to  visit  other  countries.  The 
fame  of  Pherecydes  drew  him  first  to  the  island  of  Syros ;  whence  he 
passed  to  Miletus,  where  he  spent  some  time  with  Thales.  From  Mi- 
letus, Pythagoras  went  to  Sidon,  and  thence  down  into  Egypt,  where  he 
devoted  many  years  to  close  study  with  the  priests  of  Heliopolis  and  Dios- 
polis.  Having  left  Egypt,  the  young  philosopher  next  visited  Jerusalem 
and  Babylon ;  and  from  the  latter  city,  with  his  mind  stored  with  all 
variety  of  knowledge,  he  returned  to  his  native  place,  and  thence,  after  a 
short  time,  he  went  into  Greece. 

Passing  through  Peloponnesus,  Pythagoras  spent  a  short  time  at  the 


424  PYTHAGORAS.  [LKOT.  XVI. 

court  of  Leo,  king  of  Phlius ;  and  with  his  eloquence  and  wisdom  that 
prince  was  both  charmed  and  delighted.  The  sacredness  of  his  situation 
as  a  distinguished  guest,  prevented  Leo,  for  some  time,  from  inquiring 
after  his  pursuits ;  but  the  prince,  through  admiration  of  his  varied 
knowledge,  at  length  ventured  to  ask  him  what  profession  he  followed. 
1  None,'  replied  Pythagoras ;  '  for  I  am  a  philosopher.'  Displeased  with 
the  lofty  title  of  sages,  and  wise  men,  which  his  profession  had  hitherto 
assumed,  he  thus  changed  it  into  one  more  modest  and  humble — calling 
himself  simply  a  philosopher,  or  a  lover  of  wisdom.  Leo  then  asked  him 
what  it  was  to  be  a  philosopher,  and  in  what  respect  they  differed  from 
other  men ;  to  which  Pythagoras  replied,  that,  '  this  life  might  be  com- 
pared to  the  Olympic  games ;  for,  as  in  that  vast  assembly,  some  came  in 
search  of  glory,  others  in  search  of  gain,  and  a  third  sort,  more  noble 
than  the  two  former,  neither  for  fame  nor  profit,  but  only  to  enjoy  the 
wonderful  spectacle,  and  to  see  and  hear  what  passes  in  it :  so  we,  in  like 
manner,  come  into  the  world,  as  into  a  place  of  public  meeting,  where 
some  toil  after  glory,  others  after  gain ;  and  a  few  contemning  riches  and 
vanity,  apply  themselves  to  the  study  of  nature.  These  last,'  says  he, 
'  are  they  whom  I  call  philosophers ;  for  man  was  made  to  know  and  to 
contemplate.' 

From  Greece,  Pythagoras  went  into  the  southern  part  of  Italy ;  and 
finally  settled  at  Crotona,  where,  as  was  before  observed,  he  opened  hig 
school  about  540  A.C.  He  was  a  politician,  however,  as  well  as  a 
philosopher,  and  his  political  principles  were  evidently  aristocratic : 
hence  his  opposition  to  the  patrons  and  leaders  of  the  growing  demo- 
cratic interests  in  that  community.  He  and  his  followers  soon  gained  an 
influence  in  the  State,  sufficiently  powerful  to  enable  them  to  impose  an 
aristocratic  constitution  on  Crotona  and  the  neighboring  States.  The 
league  which  he  established,  although  it  was  a  religious  and  philosophical 
fraternity,  admission  into  which  was  accompanied  by  mystical  rites  of 
initiation,  constituted  also  a  political  bond  of  union,  and  its  object  was  to 
propagate  aristocratic  principles.  Hence  it  was  a  political  tumult,  origin- 
ating with  the  popular  party,  which  led  to  its  suppression,  and  the  con- 
sequent persecution  of  Pythagoras.  In  the  revolution  that  succeeded, 
and  which  pervaded  all  the  States  of  Magna  Graecia,  Pythagoras  in  vain 
sought  safety  in  flight.  The  principles,  and  therefore  the  influence,  of  his 
enemies  extended  far  and  wide ;  and  he  was  at  length  put  to  death  at 
Metapontum,  whilst  Crotona,  which  had  rejected  his  wise  counsels,  sank 
into  decay  as  rapidly  as  it  had,  under  his  influence,  risen  to  pros- 
perity. 

The  principle  upon  which  the  Pythagorean  system  of  philosophy  seems 
to  have  been  based,  was  the  relation  of  numbers ;  but  it  is  difficult  to 
form  a  clear  conception  of  the  nature  of  that  relation  even  generally,  and 
in  particular  cases  it  is  impossible.  Probably  in  some  of  its  applications, 


670A.C.]  PYTHAGORAS.  425 

no  clear  ideas  existed  in  the  minds  of  these  philosophers  themselves.  At 
one  time,  the  term  number  is  used  as  though  it  merely  signified  the* 
arithmetical  proportion  in  which  elements  are  combined,  so  as  to  produce 
different  phenomena.  Again,  in  discussing  the  theory  of  musical  harmony, 
and  that  theory  of  harmony,  or  music  of  the  spheres,  which  he  applied  to 
his  astronomical  system,  number  simply  expresses  the  ratio  which  strings, 
producing  musical  tones,  1}ear  to  one  another  ;  and  of  that  relation  of  the 
several  parts  of  the  universe  which  constitutes  order,  regularity,  and 
stability.  In  these  cases,  number  is  only  used  as  representing,  symbolic- 
ally, the  musical  relation  of  things  which  have  an  existence  independent 
of  it.  At  another  time,  when  this  unity  is  spoken  of  as  the  principle  of 
all  being,  it  appears  as  though  the  perception  which  Pythagoras  formed 
of  it  was  that  of  something  real  and  material. 

The  probability,  however,  is,  that  the  symbolical  sense  of  the  term  was 
the  one  adopted  by  Pythagoras  himself ;  and  that,  by  a  forced  analogy, 
Dumber  was  afterwards  made  use  of  by  his  followers,  to  account  for  phenom- 
ena to  which  it  was  totally  incapable  of  being  applied.  They  committed 
the  common  error  of  confounding  the  symbol  with  the  thing  signified. 
Instead  of  being  content  with  affirming  that  harmony  depended  on  the 
proportion  of  the  parts  to  one  another ;  and  that  this  proportion  was  the 
law,  according  to  which  the  operations  of  nature  were  carried  on,  the 
followers  of  Pythagoras  carried  his  theory  farther,  and  considered  that 
which  was,  in  reality,  only  its  symbolical  representative,  the  material  and 
efficient  cause  of  all  things.  Harmony  seems  to  have  been  the  foundation 
of  the  Pythagorean  system — the  leading  idea  which  at  first  took  possess- 
ion of  his  min<J>  Music  had,  at  this  time,  begun  to  exercise  an  influence 
over  poetry — it  was  a  step  to  introduce  it  into  the  domain  of  philosophy. 
Its  application  to  account  for  the  order  and  regularity  which  reigned 
among  the  heavenly  bodies,  naturally  suggested  itself  to  an  astronomer, 
whose  studies  had  been  directed  to  it  in  the  abstract,  and  who,  even  in 
his  medical  studies,  was  led  to  make  observations  on  its  influence  upon 
the  human  frame. 

From  these  considerations,  it  is  clear  that  the  Pythagorean  theory  of 
numbers  was  reasonable,  so  far  as  it  resolved  all  the  relations,  whether 
of  space  or  time,  into  those  of  number  or  proportion,  and  asserted  that 
the  order  of  the  universe  was  maintained  by  the  laws  of  harmony ;  but  it 
became  arbitrary — mere  words  without  meaning — when  it  assumed  that 
mathematical  quantities  and  ideas  were  not  symbols  of  things,  but  the 
things  themselves — the  elements  out  of  which  material  essences  origin- 
ated, and  that  even  virtue,  justice,  and  all  other  moral  qualities,  were 
defined  by  certain  fixed  and  determined  numbers. 

The  same  mysticism  and  obscurity,  which  pervaded  the  doctrines  just 
noticed,  enter  also  into  all  the  investigations  of  the  Pythagoreans  respect- 
ing the  spiritual  nature  of  man.  The  human  soul  they  believed  to  be  an 


426  SOCRATES.  [LECT.  XVI. 

emanation  from  the  Deity — eternal,  personal,  dwelling  in  other  bodies 
.successively,  and  punished  or  rewarded  in  its  future  state  of  being — able 
to  energize  only  by  means  of  its  union  with  the  body,  the  senses  of  which 
are  its  instruments  and  organs.  They  divided  it  into  two  parts,  the  ra- 
tional and  the  irrational — the  governing  part  being  the  peculiar  property 
of  man — the  other,  the  seat  of  the  passions  and  instinct,  common  to  man 
with  the  lower  animals. 

But  the  most  important  feature  of  the  Pythagorean  philosophy  was, 
that  it  had  for  its  principal  objects  the  enunciation  of  one  great  truth — 
the  superiority  of  intellectual  activity  to  corporeal  organization.  Arbi- 
trary as  its  theory  of  numbers  may  have  been,  nevertheless,  in  teaching 
that  all  knowledge  was  resolvable  into  that  of  mathematical  relations,  it 
referred  its  origin,  not  to  the  operations  of  the  bodily  senses,  but  of  pure 
intellect.  Even  in  musical  harmony  the  effects  and  phenomena  alone  are 
apprehended  and  appreciated  by  the  ear ;  the  theory  and  the  principles 
of  .harmony  must  be  investigated  by  the  logical  powers.  Thus,  the  in- 
tellect was  most  made  the  judge  of  truth  of  every  kind,  without  any 
necessary  dependence  upon  the  deceptive  tendencies  of  the  external 
senses.  It  was,  doubtless,  a  yearning  after  this  result,  so  seductive  to 
contemplative  minds,  which  led  Pythagoras  and  his  followers  into  the 
unsound  application  and  illogical  developments  of  a  theory  which,  in  its 
simplicity,  appeared  to  rest  upon  no  unreasonable  foundation. 

Of  the  numerous  followers  of  Pythagoras,  the  principal  were  Ernped- 
ocles  of  Agrigeutum,  who  flourished  about  444  A.C. ;  Oeellus  of  Luca- 
nia,  Archytas  of  Tarentum,  and  Philolaus  of  Crotona ;  but  our  limited 
space  will  not  permit  us  to  particularize  them. 

From  the  two  primitive  schools  of  philosophy  which  we  have  thus  n£ 
ticed,  sprang  all  the  variety  of  sects  into  which  Greece  was  afterwards 
divided ;  a  brief  notice  of  the  principal  of  which  will  close  our  present 
remarks. 

The  first  school  that  drew  its  descent  from  the  Ionic,  was  the  Socratic; 
so  called  from  its  founder  Socrates,  who  was  a  pupil  of  the  last  public 
teacher  of  the  Ionic  school.  Socrates  is  entitled  to  the  praise  of  being 
the  best  man  of  pagan  antiquity ;  the  charges  brought  by  some  of  his  con- 
temporaries against  his  purity  being  unsustained  by  evidence. 

Socrates  was  the  son  of  Sophroniscus,  a  statuary,  and  was  born  in 
Athens,  468  A.C.  He  was  first  trained  to  the  manual  employment  of 
his  father,  but  was  afterwards  patronized  by  Crito,  a  wealthy  Athenian, 
and  enjoyed  the  instruction  of  the  most  eminent  teachers  of  the  day.  In 
the  course  of  his  life  he  served  several  times  in  war,  as  a  soldier ;  and  in 
one  engagement  he  is  represented  to  have  saved  the  life  of  Alcibiades ; 
in  another,  that  of  Xenophon.  After  .he  began  to  teach,  most  of  his  time 


46S  A.C.]  SOCRATES.  427 

was  spent  in  public,  and  he  was  at  all  times  ready  and  free  to  discourse 
with  all  who  might  wish  to  hear  him.  In  the  latter  part  of  his  life  he 
filled  many  civil  offices  with  honor  and  dignity.  His  domestic  relations 
were  not  happy.  He  was  subjected  by  his  wife  to  the  most  trying  vexa- 
tions ;  though  doubtless,  the  account  of  them  is  very  greatly  exaggerated. 
His  trial,  condemnation,  and  death,  are  themes  of  intense  interest  to  both 
the  scholar  and  the  philanthropist;  and  have  fixed  an  indelible  stain  upon 
the  character  of  the  Athenians.  At  his  trial,  conscious  of  his  innocence, 
he  had  no  advocate,  but  made  his  own  defence.  Lysias,  the  most  cele-» 
brated  orator  of  the  age,  prepared  an  oration  for  his  use,  but  Socrates 
declined  to  accept  it;  and  Plato  desired  to  speak  in  his  behalf,  but  the 
court  would  not  permit  him  to  do  so. 

The  Socratic  mode  of  instruction  was  peculiar,  being  entirely  dialogis- 
tic,  and  consisting  of  an  actual  dialogue  between  the  teacher  and  pupil. 
Socrates  would  begin  with  the  simplest  and  most  obvious  truths,  or  ad- 
mitted principles,  and  then  advance  step  by  step,  with  his  disciple,  hearing 
and  answering  his  questions,  removing  his  doubts,  and  thus  conducting 
him  imperceptibly  to  a  conviction  of  what  he  designed  to  teach.  One  of 
the  grand  peculiarities  of  this  great  philosopher  was  that  he  confined  the 
attention  of  his  pupils  chiefly  to  moral  science,.  He  considered  the  other 
subjects  included  in  the  studies  of  the  old  Ionic  school  as  comparatively  use- 
less. He  seems  to  have  believed,  but  with  some  doubtings,  in  the  immor- 
tality of  the  soul.  Though  he  himself  left  nothing  in  writing,  yet,  in  his 
Memoirs,  by  Xenophon,  we  have  an  authentic  source  of  knowledge  respect- 
ing his  views.  The  writings  of  Plato  cannot  be  so  much  depended  upon 
for  this  object;  for,  being  poetic  by  nature,  everything  assumed  to  him  a 
poetic  aspect ;  besides,  he  was  himself  the  founder  of  a  new  sect. 

Those  disciples  of  Socrates,  such  as  JEschines,  Cebes,  and  Xenophon, 
who  adhered  to  their  master  simply,  without  advancing  any  notions  of 
their  own,  are  sometimes  denominated  pure  Socratic;  but  the  Socratic 
school  soon  became  divided  into  various  branches.  No  less  ih&njive  sects, 
headed  by  philosophers  who  had  listened  to  Socrates,  in  a  short  time  ap- 
peared ;  and  two  of  these  eventually  gave  birth  each  'to  a  new  sect,  thus 
raising  the  number  to  seven.  These  may  be  divided  into  two  classes,  and 
with  propriety  designated  as  Minor  Socratic,  and  Major  Socratic  sects — 
the  original  and  proper  school  of  Socrates  being  still  called  pure  Socratic. 

Of  the  Minor  Socratic  sect,  the  three  principal  schools  were  the  Cyre- 
naic,  the  Megaric,  and  the  Eliac.  The  Cyrenaic  derived  its  name  from 
Cyreiie,  in  Lybia,  the  native  place  of  its  founder,  Aristippus.  One  of  the 
peculiarities  of  this  sect  was  to  favor  indulgence  in  pleasure;  its  author 
being  himself  fond  of  luxury  and  ornament.  This  sect  was  of  compara- 
tively short  duration,  and  r^ever  produced  any  men  of  particular  eminence. 


428  ZENO.  [LKCT.  XVI. 

The  Megaric  sect  was  founded  by  Euclid,  and  took  its  name  from  Me- 
gara,  the  native  place  of  its  founder.  It  was  called  JEristic,  from  its 
disputative  character,  and  Dialectic,  from  the  form  of  discourse  practiced 
by  its  disciples.  This  sect  was  famous  for  its  subtleties  in  the  art  of  rea- 
soning. Some  of  these  futile  sophisms  are  recorded ;.  such  as,  the  Horned 
— what  you  have  never  lost,  you  have ;  Jwrns  you  have  never  lost,  tlwrefore 
you  have  horns.  These  philosophers  also  agitated  the  controversy  about 
universah  and  particulars — substantially  the  same  as  that  which  was  so 
"acrimonious  in  the  middle  ages,  between  the  nominalists  and  the  realists. 

The  Eliac  sect  was  so  called  from  Elis,  the  place  where  Phaedo,  its 
founder,  was  born,  and  wheie  he  delivered  his  lectures.  This  sect  is 
sometimes  called  Eretrianfoom  the  circumstance,  that  Menedemus,  a  dis- 
ciple of  Phaedo,  transferred  the  school  to  Eretria,  the  place  of  his  own 
nativity.  It  opposed  the  fooleries  of  the  Megaric  philosophy,  and  the 
licentiousness  of  the  Cyrenaic,  but  never  acquired  much  importance. 

The  Major  Socratic  sects  consisted  of  the  Cfymc,the  Stoic,  the  Aca- 
demic, and  the  Peripatetic. 

The  Cynic  originated  with  Antisthenes,  a  pupil  of  Socrates.  He 
maintained  that  all  the  philosphers  were  departing  from  the  principles  of 
that  master.  He  assumed  in  the  character  of  a  reformer,  manners  so  se- 
vere, and  such  careful  negligence  of  dress,  as  to  provoke  the  ridicule  of 
even  Socrates  himself.  The  Cynics  were,  however,  rather  a  class  of  re- 
formers in  manners,  than  a  sect  of  philosophers.  The  name  is  said  to 
have  been  occasioned  by  their  severity  and  sourness,  which  were  carried 
to  such  excess  as  to  bring  upon  them  the  appellation  of  Dogs.  Their  two 
distinguishing  peculiarites  were,  that  they  discarded  all  speculation  and 
science  whatever,  and  insisted  on  the  most  rigid  self-denial. 

One  of  the  most  famous  teachers  of  this  sect  was  Diogenes.  He  car- 
ried the  notions  of  Antisthenes  to  the  greatest  extravagance.  Constitu- 
tionally eccentric,  he  was  always  a  censor,  and  his  oppositi(m  to  refine- 
ment often  degenerated  into  rudeness.  He  satirized  the  instructions  of 
other  philosophers  in  the  following  manner : — Having  heard  Plato  define 
a  man  to  be  a  two-legged  animal  without  feathers,  he  stripped  a  cock  of 
its  feathers,  and  taking  it  into  the  academy,  exclaimed, ' See  Plato's  man? 
The  only  writings  of  this  sect  extant,  are  a  few  fragments  of  Antisthenes. 

The  Stoic  sect  sprung  from  the  Cynic.  Zeno,  its  founder,  was  a  native 
of  the  island  of  Cyprus ;  but  being  brought  to  Athens  by  the  mercantile 
pursuits  of  his  father,  he  was  accidentally  introduced  to  the  school  of  the 
Cynics,  and  from  them  borrowed  many  of  the  notions  of  the  sect  that  he 
established.  Zeno,  however,  visited  the  other  schools  which  at  that  time 
existed,  and  borrowed  extensively  from  them  all.  The  name  of  Stoic 
was  derived  from  the  Portico  where  he  delivered  his  lectures. 

The  Stoics,  unlike  the  Cynics,  devoted  themselves  much  to  speculative 


428  A.C.]  PLATO.  429 

studies ;  but  they  resembled  them  in  some  degree  in  their  general  aus- 
terity of  manners  and  character,  ^difference  to  pleasure  or  pain,  adver- 
sity or  prosperity,  they  inculcated  as  the  state  of  inind  essential  to  happi- 
ness. The  doctrine  of  fate  was  one  of  their  grand  peculiarities.  They 
considered  all  things  as  controlled  by  an  eternal  necessity,  to  which  even 
the  Deity  himself  submitted ;  and  this  necessity  was  supposed  to  be  the 
origin  of  evil.  Their  system  of  morals  was  in  general  strict,  and  outwardly 
correct,  but  it  fostered  a  cold,  self-relying  pride.  It  approved  of  suicide, 
which  was  practised  by  both  Zeno  and  Cleanthes ;  yet  it  stimulated  to 
heroic  deeds.  In  logic,  the  Stoics  imitated  the  quibbles  and  sophisms 
of  the  Megaric  sect.  They  divided  all  objects  of  thought  or  knowledge 
into  four  kinds — substances,  qualities,  modes  and  relations  ;  and  so  pure 
were  many  of  the  views  of  some  of  the  latter  of  them,  that  they  are  sup- 
posed to  have  borrowed  much  of  their  doctrine  from  Christianity.  They 
speak  of  the  world  as  destined  to  be  destroyed  by  a  vast  conflagration, 
and  succeeded  by  another  new  and  pure.  One  of  them,  addressing  a 
mother  on  the  loss  of  her  son,  says,  '  The  sacred  assembly  of  the  Scipios 
and  Catos  shall  welcome  the  youth  to  the  regions  of  happy  souls.  Your 
father  himself  (for  there  all  are  known  to  all)  shall  embrace  his  grandson, 
and  shall  direct  his  eyes,  now  furnished  with  new  light,  along  the  course 
of  the  stars,  with  delight  explaining  to  him  the  mysteries  of  nature,  not 
from  conjecture,  but  from  certain  knowledge.' 

Among  the  most  eminent  of  the  early  disciples  of  the  Stoical  school, 
were  Cleantlies,  the  celebrated  poet  and  immediate  successor  of  Zeno,  and 
Chrysippus,  who  also  became  the  public  teacher  in  the  school  at  Athens. 
The  latter  was  celebrated  as  a  disputant,  and  was  wont  to  say, '  Give  me 
doctrines,  and  I  will  find  arguments  to  support  them.'  He  is  said  to  have 
been  the  author  of  many  hundred  treatises ;  but  of  these  nothing  nofcre- 
mains  excepting  a  few  scattered  fragments.  Neither  have  we  any  written 
productions  from  Zeno,  nor  any  other  of  the  early  stoics.  The  principal 
authors  of  this  school  whose  works  remain,  are  Epictetus  and  Antoninus, 
both  of  whom  lived  after  the  beginning  of  the  Christian  era. 

The  Academic  sect  originated  with  Plato,  one  of  the  most  emineit 
men  of  all  antiquity.  He  was  descended,  on  his  father's  side,  from 
Codrus,  the  last  king  of  Athens,  and  on  his  mother's,  from  the  celebrated 
law-giver  Solon.  His  birth  occurred  at  Athens  428  A.C.  In  youth 'he 
devoted  much  time  and  attention  to  poetry  and  painting,  and  in  the 
former  so  far  excelled  as  to  produce  many  poems  of  rare  merit ;  but 
having  compared  the  best  of  them  with  the  poems  of  Homer,  he  was 
induced  to  commit  them  to  the  flames.  Captivated  by  the  lectures  of 
Socrates,  he  abandoned  the  Muses,  and  thenceforward  devoted  himself  to 
philosophy.  After  travelling  extensively  through  the  East  and  also  in  Magna 
Grsecia,  he  returned  to  Athens,  and  opened  his  school  in  a  public  grove, 
from  which  the  sect  derived  the  name  of  the  Academy.  Over  his  door 


430  PLATO.  [LECT.  XVI. 

lie  placed  the  inscription,  Let  none  enter  here  who  is  ignorant  of  Geom- 
etry— so  highly  did  he  value  mathematical  science,  as  a  foundation  for 
more  elevated  studies.  Plato's  death  occurred  at  Athens  in  the  eighty- 
first  year  of  his  age,  and  347  A.C. 

The  Platonic  philosophy  abounded  with  peculiarities,  and  of  these  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  respected  the  relations  of  matter  to  mind.  The 
system  recognized  a  supreme  intelligence,  but  maintained  the  eternity  of 
matter  ;  and  while  matter  receives  all  its  shapes  from  the  will  of  the  in- 
telligence, still  it  contains  a  blind  refractory  force  which  is  the  cause  of  all 
evil.  The  human  soul  consists  of  parts  derived  from  both  these — the  in- 
telligence and  the  matter ;  and  all  its  impurity  results  from  the  inherent 
nature  of  the  latter  constituent. 

A  very  striking  peculiarity  of  the  Platonic  philosophy  was  the  doctrine 
respecting  idea$.  It  maintained  that  there  exist  eternal  patterns  or 
types,  or  exemplars  of  all  things — that  these  exemplars  are  the  only  proper 
objects  of  science — and  that  to  understand  them  is  to  know  truth.  On 
the  other  hand,  all  sensible  forms — the  appearances  made  to  the  several 
senses — are  only  shadows  :  the  forms  and  shadows  addressed  to  the  senses 
— the  exemplars  or  types,  to  the  intellect.  These  exemplars  were  called 
ideas.  This  doctrine  respecting  matter  and  ideas  essentially  controlled 
the  system  of  study  in  this  sect,  and  their  practical  morality.  To  gain 
true  science,  one  must  turn  away  from  the  things  around  him  and  apply 
hrs  mind  in  the  most  perfect  abstraction,  to  contemplate  andfind  out  the 
eternal  original  patterns  of  things.  And  to  gain  moral  purity,  he  must 
mortify  and  deny  the  parts  of  the  soul  derived  from  matter,  and  avoid  all 
familiarity  with  shadows.  Hence,  probably,  the  readiness  to  embrace  the 
Platonic  system  manifested  among  the  Christians  of  the  middle  ages, 
wh<m  the  mystic  notion  of  cleansing  the  soul  by  solitude  and  penance  be- 
came so  common. 

The  Academic  sect  was  very  popular,  and  eminent  philosophers  succes- 
sively taught  its  doctrines  in  the  grove.  Some  adhered  closely  to  the 
•jdews  of  Plato,  and  were  called  disciples  of  the  Old  Academy,  while 
others  departed  from  them,  and  formed  successively  the  Middle  and  the 
New  Academy.  The  Old  was  begun  by  Plato  himself  400  A.C. ;  the 
Middle,  by  Arcesilaus,  about  300  A.C. ;  and  the  New,  by  Carneades, 
about  180  A.C.  The  distinguishing  point  of  difference  between  these 
three  branches  was  their  opinion  respecting  the  certainty  of  human 
knowledge.  The  Old  Academy  maintained  that  certain  knowledge  can 
be  obtained,  not  of  the  sensible  forms,  but  only  of  the  eternal  exemplars  ; 
the  Middle,  that  there  is  a  certainty  in  things,  yet  it  is  beyond  the  attain- 
ment of  the  human  mind,  so  that  positive  assertion  is  improper ;  the 
New  that  man  has  the  means  of  knowledge,  not  infallible,  but  sufficiently 
certain  for  all  his  wants. 

The  Peripatetic  sect  grew  out  of  the  Academic,  Aristotle,  its  founder, 


384A.C.]  ARISTOTLE.  431 

having  long  been  a  pupil  of  Plato.  Born  at  Stagira  384  A.C.,  and  inheriting 
from  his  father  a  considerable  fortune,  he  spent  his  youth  in  dissipation  ; 
but  from  the  moment  he  turned  his  attention  to  philosophical  studies,  his 
devotion  to  learning  was  almost  without  a  parallel.  Having  completed 
his  course  of  study  in  the  Academy,  he  was  invited  by  Philip  of  Macedon 
to  superintend  the  education  of  his  son  Alexander,  afterwards  the  Great. 
When  Alexander's  studies  were  closed,  he  returned  to  Athens,  and  as 
Plato,  his  master,  was  now  dead,  he  commenced  his  Lectures  in  the 
Lyceum,  where  he  taught  for  twelve  years.  Accused,  at  length,  by  his 
enemies  and  rivals  of  impiety,  he  retired  to  Chalcis,  in  Euboea,  and  there 
remained  till  his  death,  which  occurred  322  A.C. 

The  Peripatetics,  according  to  the  established  practice  of  the  philoso- 
phers, had  their  public  and  their  secret  doctrine,  or  the  exoteric  and  esot- 
eric. In  his  morning  walk  Aristotle  imparted  the  latter  to  his  particular 
disciples,  and  in  the  evening  he  proclaimed  the  former  to  a  mixed  crowd 
of  hearers.  Very  contradictory  accounts  have  been  given  of  the  essential 
principles  of  Aristotle  and  his  sect.  But  nothing,  perhaps,  was  more  dis- 
tinctive than  the  system  of  syllogistic  reasoning,  which  was  introduced  by 
its  founder,  and  became  so  celebrated  in  subsequent  ages,  and  for  so  long 
a  period  held  the  highest  place  in  the  plans  of  education.  Of  the  early 
disciples  of  Aristotle,  Theophrastus  and  Strato  were  the  most  eminent ; 
and  each,  in  his  turn,  succeeded  their  master  as  teachers  in  the  Lyceum. 

Both  Plato  and  Aristotle  were  very  voluminous  writers.  Plato,  in  his 
various  dialogues,  happily  threw  into  a  written  form  the  oral  discourses 
of  his  great  master,  and  thus  laid  the  foundation  for  a  scientific  treatment 
of  philosophy.  All  antiquity  united  in  bestowing  upon  him  the  epithet 
divine,  and  in  modern  times  all  have  acknowledged  his  merit  and  ad- 
mired his  writings.  His  works  embrace  a  great  variety  of  subjects — meta- 
physical, political,  moral,  and  dialectic.  They  are  exceedingly  valuable, 
both  for  style  and  matter — rich  in  thought,  and  adorned  with  beautiful 
and  poetical  images. 

Aristotle's  peculiar  merit  as  a  writer  is  discerned  in  the  clearness  and 
order  with  which  he  classified  the  objects  of  human  knowledge,  and  the 
methodical  manner  in  which  he  discussed  them.  By  these  means  he  im- 
parted to  them  that  scientific  form  which  has  ever  since  been  regularly 
observed  in  their  discussion.  He,  in  this  manner,  reduced  logic  to  a 
regular  system,  and  laid  the  foundation  of  metaphysics.  His  works  con- 
tain a  great  mass  of  clear  thought  and  solid  matter,  although  by  his  insa- 
tiable love  of  inquiry  he  was  often  betrayed  into  abstruse  subtleties,  as 
idle  as  they  were  dark.  Aristotle's  works  embraced  a  vast  variety  of 
subjects,  and  may  be  classed  under  the  heads  of  Logic,  Physics,  Meta- 
physics, Mathematics,  Ethics,  Politics,  Rhetoric,  and  Poetry.  His  works 
on  logic  were  published  under  the  name  of  Organum ;  and  it  was  in  ref- 


432  EPICURUS.  [LBOT.  XVI. 

erence  to  this  title  that  Lord  Bacon  called  his  celebrated  work  Novum 
Organum. 

A  brief  notice  of  the  three  principal  sects  derived  from  the  Italic 
school  will  close  our  present  remarks.  These  were  the  Eleatic,  the  Epi- 
curean, and  i\i&  Skeptic. 

The  Eleatic  sect  was  founded  by  Xenophanes  of  Colophon,  who  early 
removed  from  his  native  country  to  Sicily,  and  thence  passed  over  into 
Magna  Graecia.  Here  he  soon  became  a  celebrated  disciple  in  the  Pytha- 
gorian  school,  but,  in  his  own  lectures,  he  advanced  new  and  entirely 
different  views  from  those  of  the  school  to  which  he  was  attached.  This 
sect  derived  its  name  from  Elea  in  Magna  Grsecia,  the  place  where  some 
of  the  founder's  most  distinguished  followers  belonged.  Its  doctrines 
were  entirely  atheistical.  Matter,  according  to  the  Eleatic  notion,  is 
made  up  of  infinitely  small  atoms,  which  have  no  other  property  than  a 
tendency  to  move.  By  the  eternally  varying  motions  of  the  atoms,  every 
existence  and  every  effect  in  the  universe  is  caused :  yet  there  is  no  real 
change  except  to  our  senses.  The  soul  of  man  is  thus  made  material 

The  most  distinguished  supporters  of  this  sect  were  Parmenides,  Zeno 
of  Elea,  Leucippus,  who  is  said  to  have  been  the  principal  author  of  the 
atomic  theory,  and  Democritus  of  Abdera,  commonly  called  the  laugh- 
ing philosopJier.  Another  eminent  follower  of  this  sect  was  Protagoras 
of  Abdera,  who  acquired  great  power  and  wealth  at  Athens  in  the  pro- 
fession of  sophist,  but  was  finally  banished,  his  writings  having  been  pub- 
licly burned  on  account  of  his  impiety. 

The  Epicurean  sect  derived  its  name  and  origin  from  Epicurus,  a  na- 
tive of  a  small  town  near  Athens.  He  first  gave  lectures  at  Mitylene, 
but  afterwards  opened  his  school  at  Athens,  in  a  garden  in  which  he 
lived,  and  often  supported  large  numbers  of  young  men  who  flocked  to 
hear  him.  The  doctrines  of  this  sect  were  derived  from  the  atomic  the- 
ory of  the  Eleatics,  and  were  on  the  whole  atheistic,  although  not  so 
fully  and  formally  so  as  their  source.  They  believed  that  all  happiness 
was  founded  in  pleasure ;  and  this  principle  opened  the  way  for  the  great 
licentiousness  of  the  later  disciples  of  this  school.  Epicurus  explained 
and  limited  his  language  so  as  to  recommend  the  practice  of  virtue.  It 
might  have  been  his  pleasure  to  be  chaste  and  temperate :  we  are  told  it 
was  so ;  but  others  find  their  pleasure  in  intemperance  and  luxury ;  and 
such  was  the  taste  of  many  of  his  principal  followers.  This  sect  became 
popular,  and  existed  to  a  very  late  period ;  but  of  their  writings  only  a 
few  trifling  fragments  remain,  though  Epicurus  alone  is  said  to  have  writ- 
ten several  hundred  treatises.  Hermarchus  succeeded  Epicurus,  and 
inherited  both  his  books  and  garden. 


384A.C.]  PYRRHO.  ,433 

The  Skeptic  sect  received  its  appellation  from  its  doctrines :  from  its 
founder  it  was  also  sometimes  called  Pyrrhonic.  Pyrrho  was  educated  in 
the  Eleatic  school,  and  particularly  admired  the  notions  of  Dernocritus, 
from  whom  he  drew  the  elements  of  his  system.  He  was  also  instructed 
in  the  dialectic  sophistries  of  the  Megaric  sect,  and  seems  to  have  been 
disgusted  with  their  frivolous  disputes.  The  doctrines  of  this  sect  were 
very  similar  to  those  of  the  Middle  Academy,  and,  as  their  own  sect  was 
rather  unpopular,  many  real  sceptics  concealed  themselves  under  that 
honorable  name.  Their  essential  peculiarity  was,  that  nothing  is  certain, 
and  that  no  assertion  can  be  made.  Happiness  they  placed  in  tranquil- 
lity of  mind,  and  this  could  be  obtained  only  by  absolute  indifference  to 
all  dogmas.  They  ridiculed  the  disputes  and  contradictions  of  the  other 
sects,  especially  the  boasted  confidence  of  the  Stoic,  and  the  proud  soph- 
istries of  the  Megaric.  But  Seneca,  in  reference  to  this  subject,  well 
remarked,  '  I  prefer  a  man  who  teaches  me  trifles  to  him  who  teaches  me 
nothing:  if  the  Dialectic  philosophy  leaves  me  in  the  dark,  the  Skeptic 
puts  out  my  eyes.'  This  sect  had  its  professors  and  teachers  down  to  the 
time  of  Sextus  Empiricus,  who  lived  in  the  first  half  of  -the  third  Chris- 
tian century,  and  whose  writings  are  the  principal  source  of  information 
respecting  the  views  of  the  Skeptics. 
28 


tilt 


ORATORY. 

P1SISTR  ATUS.  —  THEMISTOCLES.  —  PERICLES.  —  ANTIPHON.  —  ANDRO- 
CIDES.  —  LYSI-AS.  —  ISOCRATES.  —  IS^EUS.  —  LYC  tRGUS.  —  DEMOS- 
THENES.— ^ESCHIJtfES.  — HYPERIDES.  —  DEM  ADES.  —  DINARCHUS. 
—  DEMETRIUS  PHALEREUS. 

ORATORY,  among  the  Greeks,  was  of  later  origin  than  other  branches 
of  prose  composition.  But,  though  it  did  not  exist  in  form,  as  an 
art,  at  so  early  a  period  as  some  others,  yet  even  in  the  heroic  ages  there 
was  much  of  what  may  be  called  actual  eloquence — practical  skill  in 
moving  the  feelings  of  assembled  numbers  in  civil  and  military  affairs. 
We  have  abundant  evidence  of  this  in  the  addresses  made  by  the  war- 
riors of  Homer,  which,  although  doubtless  the  productions  of  the  poet, 
are  yet  a  direct  proof  of  the  existence,  and  even  the  success,  of  rude 
efforts  to  persuade. 

The  example  of.  those  historical  writers,  who  were  not  indifferent  to 
the  beauties  of  style,  seems  to  have  first  suggested  to  the  Greeks  the 
advantage  of  careful  attention  to  the  language  and  manner  of  their 
spoken  addresses.  From  the  time  of  Solon,  600  A.C.,  political  eloquence 
was  much  practiced  at  Athens,  and  by  the  emulation  of  great  speakers 
speedily  advanced  to  high  perfection.  Rhetoric  and  oratory  accordingly 
soon  became  objects  of  systematic  study,  and  were  indispensable  in  the 
education  of  such  as  wished  to  gain  any  public  office,  or  any  influence  in 
the  affairs  of  the  State.  Grecian  oratory  was  not,  however,  either  of 
early  or  sudden  growth.  It  was  not,  indeed,  till  after  Greece  had 
adopted  the  popular  forms  of  government,  and  the  works  of  Homer  had 
been  collected  and  began  to  be  studied,  and  after  her  general  prosperity 
and  independence  allowed  her  citizens  to  attend  to  speaking  as  an  art, 
that  Greece  exhibited  any  very  eminent  orators. 

At  the  time  of  Solon,  beyond  which  Grecian  eloquence  cannot  be 
carried  back,  several  of  the  States  had  existed  much  longer  than  Rome 
had,  at  the  time  of  Cicero.  While  eloquence  made  its  first  appearance 
thus  late,  and  gradually  rose  to  perfection  under  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  the  nation,  it  continued  in  power  and  splendor  only  for  a  short 


600  A.C.]  ORATORY.  435 

period.  Its  r3al  history  must  be  considered  as  terminating  with  the 
usurpation  of  Philip  and  the  supremacy  of  Macedon  over  Southern 
Greece ;  so  that  the  whole  space  of  time,  during  which  Grecian  oratory 
particularly  flourished,  includes  less  than  three  hundred  years.  This 
space  coincides  with  the  third  period  of  Grecian  literature,  and  extends 
from  Solon  to  Alexander  the  Great,  occupying  the  space  of  two  hundred 
and  sixty-four  •  years..  It  was,  however,  the  brightest  in  the  annals  of 
Greece — a  glorious  day,  at  the  close  of  which  her  sun  went  down  in 
clouds,  and  never  again  rose  in  its  native  splendor. 

It  is  also  worthy  of  remark,  that  whatever  glory  the  Greeks  have 
acquired  for  their  eloquence,  belongs  almost  exclusively  to  Athens.  In 
the  other  States  it  was  never  cultivated  with  success.  The  orators  of 
whose  genius  any  monuments  are  still  preserved,  or  whose  names  nave 
been  recorded  as  distinguished,  were  Athenians.  Out  of  Greece  proper, 
however,  the  study  flourished,  both  in  the  islands  and  in  the  settlements 
in  Ionia.  The  Greeks  of  Sicily  were  the  first  who  attempted  to  form 
rules  for  the  art,  and  the  inhabitants  of  Rhodes  had  orators  that  might 
be  compared  with  those  of  Athens. 

Greek  oratory,  during  the  period  just  mentioned,  presents  itself  under 
three  different  aspects  successively.  It  exhibits  one  characteristic  appear- 
ance, from  the  time  of  Pisistratus  to  the  close  of  the  Persian  war ;  an- 
other, from  the  close  of  the  Persian  to  the  close  of  the  Peloponnesian ;  and 
a  third,  from  the  close  of  the  Peloponnesian  war  to  the  supremacy  of 
l^acedon.  A  glance  at  the  peculiar  character  of  the  eloquence  of  these 
three  portions,  will  give  us,  perhaps,  the  best  general  view  of  the  whole. 

Of  the  first  portion  of  this  period  no  monuments  or  fragments  of  the 
oratory  now  remain.  Its  character  must  be  drawn  altogether  from  the 
testimony  of  later  periods,  and  from  circumstantial  indications.  It  was 
in  this  age  that  the  poems  of  Homer  were  collected  and  published  ;  which 
gave  a  new  impulse  to  Grecian  mind,  and  unquestionably  exerted  an  in- 
fluence on  the  language  and  oratory  of  the  times.  As  the  models  of  lan- 
guage and  style  were  all  in  poetry  and  not  in  prose,  the  speeches  and  the 
compositions  of  this  age  were  marked  by  a  poetical  structure,  by  some- 
thing of  the  rhythm  and  measure  of  verse.  Such,  indeed,  was  the  pre- 
ference for  metrical  composition,  that  Parmenides  taught  his  philosophy 
in  verse,  and  Solon  published  his  laws  in  the  dress  of  poetry.  Solon  is 
ranked  among  the  distinguished  orators  of  the  period;  and  the  first  cir- 
cumstance that  brought  him  into  notice,  was  a  poetical  harangue  to  the 
populace  of  Athens 

Still,  oratory  as  an  art  was,  at  this  time,  scarcely  conceived.  The 
orators  were  nothing  more  than  the  favorite  leaders  of  the  people — 
chiefly  such  as  had  been  brave  and  successful  in  war — who  gained  popu- 
lar influence  by  military  enterprize,  and  were  permitted  to  be  powerful 
statesmen  because  they  were  fortunate  generals.  Their  speeches  were 


436  ORATORY.  [LECT.  XVII. 

brief,  simple,  and  bold — adorned  with  few  ornaments,  and  accompanied 
with  little  action.  Such  was  Pisistratus,  whose  valor*  in  the  field  and 
eloquence  in  the  assembly  raised  him  to  an  authority  utterly  inconsistent 
with  the  republican  institutions  of  his  country.  Such,  too,  was  Tliemis- 
tocles ;  in  whom,  however,  predominated  the  bravery  and  art  of  the 
military  chieftain.  It  was  his  policy  and  energy  that  saved  Greece  from 
the  dominion  of  Persia.  He  acquired  unlimited  sway  as  a  statesman  and 
orator ;  because,  in  proposing  and  urging  the  plans  which  his  clear  and 
comprehensive  mind  had  once  formed,  he  could  not  but  be  eloquent;  and 
because  he  never  offered  a  plan,  which  he  was  not  able  and  ready  to  exe- 
cute with  entire  success.  His  eloquence,  like  his  policy,  was  vigorous  and 
decided,  bordering  on  the  severe,  but  dignified  and  manly.  It  was  alto- 
gether the  most  distinguished  of  the  age ;  and  the  name  of  Theniistocles 
is  therefore  selected  to  mark  this  era  in  the  history  of  Grecian  eloquence. 

Of  the  second  portion  of  the  period  in  view,  as  well  as  of  the  first,  we 
have  no  remains  that  are  acknowledged  to  be  genuine,  if  we  except  the 
harangues  of  Antiphon.  The  number  of  public  speakers  was  now,  how- 
ever, much  increased ;  and  there  began  to  be  more  preparation,  by  pre- 
vious study  and  effort,  for  the  business  of  addressing  the  popular  assem- 
blies. In  this  age  the  orators  were  men  who  had  devoted  their  early 
years  to  the  study  of  philosophy,  and  whose  attainments  and  political 
talents  raised  them  to  the  place  of  statesmen,  while  this  elevation  still 
imposed  on  them  the  duties  of  the  soldier  and  the  general.  The  ino^t 
celebrated  of  these  orators  were  Pericles,  Cleon,  Alcibiades,  Critias,  and* 
Theramenes.  Pericles  and  Alcibiades  exerted  the  greatest  influence 
upon  the  condition  of  Athens.  The  latter,  ambitious  of  glory  and  fear- 
less of  danger,  ardent  and  quick  in  his  feelings,  and  exceedingly  versatile 
in  character  and  principle,  was  able,  notwithstanding  a  defective  pronun- 
ciation and  a  hesitating  delivery,  so  perfectly  to  control  a  popular  assem- 
bly and  mould  their  feelings  according  to  his  own  will,  that  he  was 
regarded  as  one  of  the  greatest  of  orators. 

Pericles,  however,  deserves  the  chief  honor  of  giving  a  name  to  this 
era  of  eloquence.  Born  of  distinguished  parentage,  about  495  A.C.,  and 
educated  with  every  possible  degree  of  care — with  talents,  also,  of  the 
very  highest  order,  he  qualified  himself  for  public  influence  by  long  and 
intense  study.  When  he  began  to  appear  in  public,  he  disclosed  his 
powers  in  the  assemblies"  with  great  caution  ;  and  whenever  he  spoke  he 
impressed  his  hearers  with  new  convictions  of  his  strength  and  greatness. 
His  information  was  various  and  extensive,  his  views  clear  and  elevated, 
and  his  feelings  and  purposes  in  general  highly  patriotic  and  generous. 
Cicero  remarks  of  him,  that  even  when  he  spoke  directly  against  the  will 
of  the  populace,  and  against  their  favorites,  what  he  said  was  always 
popular.  The  comic  satirists,  also,  while  they  ridiculed,  and  even  cursed 
him,  acknowledged  his  excellence ;  and  so  greatly  did  he  shine  in  learn- 


600  A.C.]  ORATORY.  437 

ing,  wisdom,  and  eloquence,  that  he  ruled  Athens  for  forty  years  almost 
without  a  rival. 

Among  the  various  public  orations  of  Pericles,  was  a  funeral  eulogium 
pronounced  in  honor  of  those  who  fell  in  the  first  battle  of  the  Pelopon- 
nesian  war.  This  oration  Thucydides  has  given  us  with  professed  accu 
racy  in  his  history ;  but  it  is  more  than  probable  that  we  have  the  mere 
fabrication  of  thfj  historian,  rather  than  the  actual  production  of  the 
orator.  The  piece  may,  however,  and  probably  does,  indicate  the  pecu- 
liarities of  Pericles  and  the  other  speakers  of  the  age  ;  the  distinguishing 
qualities  of  all  of  whose  eloquence  seem  to  have  been  simple  grandeur  of 
language,  rapidity  of  thought,  and  brevity,  crowded  with  matter  to  such 
an  extent  as  even  to  create  occasional  obscurity.  They  appear  to  have 
had  very  little  of  artificial  plan,  or  of  rhetorical  illustration  and  orna- 
ment. Their  speeches  are  seldom  marked  by  any  of  the  figures  and  con- 
trivances to  produce  effect,  which  the  rules  of  professed  rhetoricians 
brought  into  use  among  the  latest  orators.  They  have  less  of  the  air  of 
martial  addresses  than  the  harangues  of  the  first  period  we  have  noticed, 
but  far  more  of  it  than  appears  in  the  third.  Their  character  is  such  as 
to  show  that,  while  'the  orator  was  a  statesman  of  influence  in  the  civil 
council,  he  was  also,  at  the  same  time,  a  commander  in  war.  Such  was 
the  eloquence  of  the  era  which  is  designated  by  the  name  of  Pericles. 

But  the  third  period  forms  the  most  glorious  era  of  Grecian  eloquence, 
and  is  marked  by  a  name  which  has  ever  been  allowed  to  stand  preemi- 
nent in  the  whole  history  of  human  eloquence — that  of  DemostJienes.  It 
was  an  age  fruitful  in  orators,  of  whose  talents  many  rich  and  splendid 
monuments  still  remain.  The  orator  was  now  no  longer  necessarily 
united  with,  the  general,  but  was  able  to  control  the  deliberations  of  the 
people,  although  he  never  encountered  the  perils  of  the  camp.  Oratory 
now  became  a  regular  study,  and  numbers  devoted  themselves  to  the 
business  of  teaching  its  rules.  These  teachers,  known  by  the  name  of 
Sophists  and  Rhetoricians,  made  the  most  arrogant  and  ridiculous  pre- 
tensions, professing  to  communicate  the  art  of  speaking  copiously  and 
fluently  on  any  point  whatever.  But  we  must  not  attach  to  all,  who 
went  under  this  name,  the  idea  of  a  vain  and  pompous  declaimer ;  for 
there  were  some  honorable  exceptions,  such  as  Isocrates,  who  taught  the 
art,  and  whose  influence  upon  the  oratory  of  that  period  was  so  great,  that 
Cicero  gives  him  the  credit  of  forming  its  general  character.  His  school 
was  the  resort  of  all  who  aimed  at  the  glory  and  rewards  of  eloquence. 

Isocrates,  Lysias,  Isceus,  JEschines,  and  Demosthenes,  are  the  bright 
names  in  the  constellation  which  marks  thi§  era.  But  besides  these, 
though  of  less  eminence,  the  names  of  Andocides,  Dinarchus,  Hyperides, 
and  Lycurgus,  are  also  recorded,  as  distinguished  speakers.  These,  with 
Antiphori  of  the  preceding  era,  form  the  illustrious  company  of  the  ten 
Athenian  orators.  They  could  have  been,  however,  only  a  small  part  of 


438  ORATORY.  [LECT.  XVII. 

the  number  in  the  profession  in  this  period,  as  we  might  judge,  even  had 
no  names  been  recorded,  from  the  fact  that  at  its  very  close  there  were 
at  least  ten,  and  according  to  some  authorities,  thirty,  whom  the  Mace- 
donian conqueror  demanded  to  be  delivered  up  to  him  as  hostile  to  his 
supremacy. 

The  general  characteristics  of  these  orators  are  to  be  found,  rather  in 
the  state  and  circumstances  of  the  profession,  than  in  the  form  or  nature 
of  the  eloquence  itself.  Each  of  the  more  eminent  orators  had  his  dis- 
tinguishing peculiarities ;  and  this  makes  it  difficult  to  mark  the  promi- 
nent traits  which  might  be  stamped  upon  all.  It  is,  notwithstanding, 
easy  to  notice  the  influence  of  the  system  of  art,  to  which  the  speakers 
of  this  age  thought  it  necessary  to  attend.  Their  orations  contain  too 
little  of  the  plain  and  direct  simplicity  of  former  times,  and  much,  often 
far  too  much,  of  the  ambush  and  artifice  of  logic — the  flourish  and  sound 
of  mere  rhetoric.  We  discover,  also,  frequently  the  orator's  conscious 
ness  of  influence,  arising  from  his  skill  in  speaking.  It  was  an  age  when 
the  populace  flocked  to  the  assemblies  and  the  courts  of  justice  for  the 
sake  of  hearing  and  being  affected — when  even  the  unprincipled  dema- 
gogue could,  by  the  spell  of  his  tongue,  raise  himself  to  the  archonship 
of  Athens. 

This  period  furnished  also  a  greater  number  and  a  greater  variety  of 
occasions  for  the  display  of  oratorical  talents,  than  almost  any  other  in 
the  whole  history  of  ancient  Greece.  Numerous  State  prosecutions, 
similar  to  that  in  which  Lysias  engaged  against  Eratosthenes,  grew  out 
of  the  disturbances  and  revolutions  connected  with  the  Peloponnesian 
war,  and  these  necessarily  drew  forth  the  genius  of  opposing  advocates. 
Public  discussions  likewise  became  frequent  upon  different  subjects  rela- 
ting to  war,  politics,  and  government,  which  opened  a  wide  field,  not 
merely  for  harangue,  but  for  studied  and  labored  composition.  At  the 
close  of  the  period  too,  the  encroachments  of  Philip  of  Macedon  on  the 
Grecian  rights,  afforded  an  ample  theme  for  both  the  ambitious  dema- 
gogue and  the  zealous  patriot.  This  circumstance  was,  perhaps,  the 
cause  of  the  peculiar  energy  and  warmth  of  feeling,  which  distinguished 
much  of  the  oratory  of  the  period.  Although  the  writers  and  speakers 
differed  in  opinion  as  to  the  true  policy  of  the  Greeks,  their  orations 
breathe  a  common  spirit  of  national  attachment,  and  national  pride  and 
confidence.  Indeed,  the  patriotism  and  the  genius  of  Greece  seem  to 
have  exhausted  themselves  in  the  efforts  of  this  last  day  of  her  inde- 
pendence and  her  glory.  In  Demosthenes  she  heard  the  last  tones  of  her 
favorite  art,  as  she  did  the  last  remonstrance  against  her  submission  to 
servitude. 

Such  is  a  glance  at  the  rise  and  progress  of  Grecian  eloquence.  Late 
in  its  origin,  confined  chiefly  to  Athens,  flourishing  only  for  a  compara- 
tively short  time,  marked  successively  by  the  eras  of  Themistocles, 


146  A.C.]  ORATORY.         •  439 

Pericles,  and  Demosthenes,  it  ended  its  career  when  the  country  lost  its 
independence,  but  with  a  glory  that  is  gone  out  into  all  lands,  and  will 
survive  through  all  ages.  It  should  be  observed,  however,  that  Cicero 
and  other  ancient  writers  speak  of  the  eloquence  of  the  period  immedi- 
ately subsequent  to  Philip  and  Alexander ;  and  this  we  shall  here  briefly 
notice. 

True   eloquence,   says   Scholl,   a   distinguished   German   critic — that 
which  speaks  to  the  heart  and  passions  of  men,  and  which  not  merely 
convinces,  but  carries  away  the  hearer,  ceased  with  the  fall  of  liberty. 
Under  the  successors  of  Alexander,  not  finding  any  object  worthy  of  its 
exertions,  it  fled  from  the  scenes  of  politics  to  the  retreats  of  the  schools. 
Athens,  degraded  from  her  eminence,  no  longer  was  the  exclusive  residence 
of  an  art,  which  had  once  thrown  such  lustre  over  her  name  and  history. 
From  this  time,  instead  of  the  orators  of  Attica,  we  hear  only  of  the 
orators  of  Asia.     In  reality,  however,  instead  of  orators  at  alj  among 
the  Greeks  anywhere,  we  find,  after  this  time,  only  rhetoricians.     Of  the 
various  Asiatic  schools  just  alluded  to,  that  of  Rhodes,  founded  by 
JEschines,  was  the  most  famous.     In  these  institutions  the  masters  gave 
out  themes,  on  which  the  young  pupils  exercised  their  talents.     These 
were  frequently  historical  subjects — often  the -questions  which  had  exer- 
cised the  great  orators  of  the  previous  age.     But  such  performances  had 
not  for  their  object  to  convince  judges,  o'r  force  an  assembly  to  action  : 
the  highest  aim  now  was  to  awaken  admiration  in  hearers,  who  wished 
not  to  be  moved,  but  to  be  entertained.     The  noble  simplicity  of  the  old 
orators  was  exchanged  for  a  style  overcharged  with  rhetorical  ornaments. 
Hegesias  of  Magnesia  is  regarded  as  the  father  of  the  new  style  of 
eloquence  and  composition  which  now  appeared,  and  which,  as  has  been 
already  observed,  was  termed  Asiatic.     But  the  principal  name  worthy 
of  notice,  after  the  time  of  Alexander,  is  Demetrius  Phalereus,  who  was 
appointed  governor  of  Athens,  by  Cassander,  king  of  Macedonia.     He 
was  the  last  of  the  great  orators  o£  Greece ;  and  Cicero  speaks  of  him 
with  considerable  commendation,  as  the  most  learned  and  polished  of  all 
after  the  ancient  masters.     But  he  describes  his  influence  as  substituting 
softness  and  tenderness  instead  of  power — cultivating  sweetness  rather 
than  force — a  sweetness  which  diffuses  itself  through  the  soul  without 
stirring  the  passions — forming  an  eloquence  which  impressed  on  the  mind 
nothing  but  its  own  symmetry,  and  which  never  left,  like  the  eloquence 
of  Pericles,  a  sting  along  with  the  delight. 

Here  our  general  view  of  Grecian  oratory  closes ;  because  everything 
pertaining  to  the  subject  after  the  fall  of  Corinth,  146  A.C.,  belongs 
rather  to  the  departments  of  Sophists  and  Rhetoricians.  It  is  important, 
however,  to  allude  to  the  three,  branches,  into  which  Grecian  oratory  was 
divided  by  the  teachers.  These  were  the  deliberative,  the  legal  or  judi- 
cial, and  the  demonstrative  or  panegyrical.  Demosthenes  is  the  un- 
rivalled master  in  the  first : "  Lysias  and  Isagus  present  rich  specimens  of 


440  •          ANTIPHON.  [LECT.  XVII. 

the  second ;  and  the  best  performances  of  Isocrates  belong  to  the  third. 
But  it  must  be  remarked  that  no  orator  %as  exclusively  confined  to  either 
branch  :  according  to  his  preference,  he  might  thunder  in  the  assembly 
of  the 'people,  argue  in  the  court  of  justice,  or  declaim  before  the  occa- 
sional and  promiscuous  concourse. 

From  these  general  remarks  we  now  proceed  to  notice  more  particu- 
larly each  individual  orator  of  whom  any  particular  remains  still  exist. 
These  are  Antiphon,  Andocides,  Lysias,  Isocrates,  Isceus,  Lycurgus, 
Demosthenes,  JEschines,  Hyperides,  Demades,  Dinarihus,  and  Demetrius 
Phalereus. 

Antiphon,  the  most  ancient  of  the  ten  Attic  orators  contained  in  the 
Alexandrine  canon,  was  the  son  of  Sophilus  the  Sophist,  and  was  born  at 
Bhamnug  in  Attica,  480  A.C.  He  possessed  very  eminent  talents,  and 
a  firm  character;  and  is  said,  by  some  of  his  contemporaries,  to  have 
been  educated  partly  by  Pythodorus,  though,  according  to  others,  he 
owed  his  education  entirely  to  himself. 

When  Antiphon  was  a.  young  man,  the  fame  of  Gorgias  was  at  its 
height.  The  object  of  Gorgias'  sophistical  school  of  oratory  was  more  to 
dazzle  and  captivate  the  hearer  by  brilliancy  of  diction  and  rhetorical 
artifices,  than  to  produce  a  solid  conviction  based  upon  sound  arguments ; 
it  was,  in  short,  a  school  for  show-speeches  ;  and  the  practical  purposes  of 
oratory,  in  thet  courts  of  justice  and  the  popular  assembly,  lay  beyond  its 
sphere.  Antiphon  perceived  this  deficiency,  and  formed  a  higher  and 
more  practical  view  of  the  art  to  which  he  devoted  himself ;  that  is,  he 
wished  to  produce  conviction  in  the  minds  of  the  hearers  by  means  of  a 
thorough  examination  of  the  subjects  proposed — and  this  not  with  a  view 
to  the  narrow  limits  of  the  school,  but  to  the  courts  and  the  assembly. 
Hence,  the  ancients  call  Antiphon  the  inventor  of  public  oratory,  or 
say  that  he  raised  it,  at  least,  to  a  h^h  position. 

Antiphon  was  thus  the  first  who  regulated  practical  eloquence  by 
certain  theoretical  laws,  and  he  opened  a  school  in  which  he  taught 
rhetoric.  Thucydides,  the  historian,  a  pupil  of  Antiphon,  speaks  of  his 
master  with  the  highest  esteem,  and  many  of  the  excellences  of  his  style 
are  ascribed  by  the  ancients  to  the  influence  of  Antiphon.  At  the  same 
time,  Autiphon  occupied  himself  with  writing  speeches  for  others,  who 
delivered  them  in  the  courts  of  justice;  and  as  he  was  the  first  who 
received  money  for  such  orations — a  practice  which  subsequently  became 
quite  general — he  was  severely  attacked  and  ridiculed,  especially  by  the 
comic  poets,  Plato  and  Pisander.  These  attacks  may,  however,  have 
been  owing  to  his  political  opinions,  for  he  was  a  strenuous  oppoSer  of 
democracy.  This  unpopularity,  together  with  his  own  reserved  character, 
prevented  him  from  ever  appearing  as  a  speaker,  either  in  the  courts  or 
the  assembly;  and  the  only  time  he  spoke  in  public  was  in  411  A.C., 


480  A.C.]  ANTIPHON.         .  441 

when  he  defended  himself  against  the  charge  of  treachery.  His  defence 
proved,  however,  unavailing  ;  for  he,  like  Socrates,  was  publicly  executed 
at  Athens,  being  then  in  the  sixty-ninth  year  of  his  age. 

As  an  orator,  Antiphon  was  highly  esteemed  by  all  antiquity.  Her- 
mogenes  says  of  his  orations,  that  they  were  clear,  true  in  the  expression 
of  feeling,  faithful  to  nature,  and  consequently  convincing.  Other  author- 
ities say,  that  his  orations  were  beautiful  but  not  graceful,  or  that  they 
had  something  austere  or  antique  about  them.  The  want  of  freshness 
and  gracefulness  is  very  obvious  in  the  orations  still  extant,  but  more 
especially  in  those  actually  spoken  by  Antiphon's  clients.  His  language 
is  pure  and  correct,  and  generally  of  remarkable  clearness.  The  treat- 
ment and  solution  of  the  point  at  issue  are  always  striking  and  in- 
teresting. 

Sixty  orations  of  different  kinds  were  attributed  by  the  ancients  to 
Antiphon ;  but  Csecilius,  a  rhetorician  of  the  Augustan  age,  declared 
twenty-five  of  them  to  be  spurious.  We  now  possess  o'nly  fifteen  of  his 
orations,  and  three  of  these  were  written  by  him  for  others.  The  re- 
maining twelve  were  written  as  specimens  for  his  school,  or  exercises  on 
fictitious  cases.  They  are  a  peculiar  phenomenon  in  the  history  of  ancient 
oratory ;  for  they  are  divided  into  three  tetralogies,  each  of  which  con- 
sists of  four  orations — two  accusations  and  two  defences  on  the  same 
subject.  The  subject  of  the  first  tetralogy  is  a  murder,  the  perpetrator 
of  which  is  yet  unknown^  that  of  the  second,.an  unpremeditated  murder ; 
and  that  of  the  third,  a  murder  committed  in  self-defence.  The  clear- 
ness which  distinguishes  his  other  three  orations  is  not  perceptible  in  these 
tetralogies,  which  partly  arises  from  the  corrupt  and  mutilated  state  in 
which  they  have  come  down  to  us. 

A  great  number  of  the  orations  of  Antiphon,  and  in  fact  all  those  still 
extant,  have  for  their  subject  the  commission  of  a  murder.  The  genuine- 
ness of  these  orations  has,  however,  been  the  subject  of  much  discussion, 
though  the  best  critics  at  present  pretty  generally  agree  that  all  are 
really  the  works  of  Antiphon.  As  to  the  historical  or  antiquarian  value 
of  the  three  real  speeches — the  tetralogies  must  be  left  out  of  the  ques- 
tion here — it  must  be  remarked,  that  they  contain  more  information  than 
any  other  ancient  work  respecting  the  mode  of  proceeding  in  the  criminal 
courts  of  Athens.  All  the  orations  of  Antiphon  are  printed  in  the  collec- 
tions of  the  Attic  orators,  edited  by  Aldus,  Stephens,  Reiske,  Dobson,  and 
others,  though  perhaps  the  best  editions  are  those  of  Baiter  and  Sauppe. 
In  addition  to  these  orations,  the  ancients  ascribe  to  Antiphon  a  work 
on  Rhetoric,  in  three  books,  and  a  collection^of  model  speeches,  or  exer- 
cises for  the  use  of  himself  or  his  scholars ;  though  it  is  probable  his 
tetralogies  belonged  to  the  latter.  His  treatise  on  Rhetoric  is  said  to  have 
been  the  first  work  ever  written  on  that  subject ;  but  this  statement  must 
be  limited  to  the  theory  of  oratory  in  the  courts  of  justice,  and  in  the 
assembly ;  for  treatises  on  the  art  of  composing  show-speeches  had  been 


442  AND  00  IDES.  [LRCT.  XVIL 

written  by  several  sophists  before  his  time.     The  work  is  occasionally 
referred  to  by  ancient  rhetoricians  and  grammarians,  but  it  is  now  lost. 

Andocides  was  the  son  of  Leogoras,  and  was  born  at  Athens  467  A.C. 
His  family  was  so-  ancient  as  to  be  able  to  trace  their  pedigree  up  to 
Odysseus  and  the  god  Hermes.  Being  a  noble,  he,  of  course,  joined  the 
oligarchical  party  at  Athens,  and  through  their  influence  obtained,  in  436 
A.C.,  the  command  of  a  fleet  of  twenty-five  sail,  the  design  of  which  was 
to  protect  the  Corcyraeans  against  the  Corinthians.  He  was  afterwards 
employed  on  various  occasions  as  ambassador  to  Thessaly,  Macedonia, 
Molossia,  Thesprotia,  Italy,  and  Sicily ;  and  although  he  was  frequently 
attacked  for  his  political  opinions,  yet  he  sustained  himself  until  415  A.C., 
when  he  became  involved  in  the  charge  brought  against  Alcibiades,.  for 
having  profaned  the  mysteries  and  mutilated  the  Hermse.  It  appeared 
the  more  probable  that  Andocides  was  an  accomplice  in  the  latter  of 
these  crimes,  which  was  regarded  as  a  preliminary  step  towards  over- 
throwing the  democratic  constitution,  since  the  Hermes  standing  near 
his  own  house  was  among  the  very  few  that  had  not  been  injured. 

Whether  an  accomplice  or  not  in  the  impiety  of  Alcibiades,  Andocides 
was  seized,  cast  into  prison,  tried,  condemned,  and  suffered  the  sentence 
of  disfranchisement.  He  now  left  Athens,  and  passed  some  years  in 
exile;  but  when,  in  411  A.C.,  the  oligarchical  government  of  the  Four 
Hundred  was  established,  he  returned  to  Athens ;  but,  being  suspected 
even  by  his  own  party,  he  was  brought  to  trial  for  his  malpractices 
abroad,  and  only  saved  his  life  by  flying  to  the  altar  as  a  sanctuary.  So 
vacillating  was  his  character,  and  so  faithless  his  conduct,  that  he  was 
banished  from  his  native  land  five  times,  and  at  last  died  in  exile.  The 
life  of  this  truly  great  man  was  chequered  by  misfortunes,  numerous  even, 
for  the  troubled  times  in  which  he  lived ;  but  they  were  chiefly  attrib- 
utable to  his  own  improper  personal  conduct,  and  his  political  insin- 
cerity. 

The  orations  of  Andocides  have  little  to  recommend  them  in  point  of 
style  and  oratorical  skill ;  but  for  the  historical  and  political  information 
which  they  contain,  they  are  invaluable.  Of  these  orations  four  are  still 
extant,  the  best  of  which  is  the  one  entitled  '  On  my  Return,'  and  which 
was  delivered  411  A.C.,  on  his  return,  to  Athens  after  his  first  banish- 
ment. Besides  this  oration  we  have  his  own  defence  against  the  charge 
of  impiety,  delivered  in  415  A.  C.,  an  oration  against  Alcibiades  in  416 
A.C.,  and  one  on  peace  with  the  Lacedaemonians  in  393  A.C. 

Lysias  was  born  at  Athens,  458  A.C.  He  was  the  son  of  Cephalus,  a 
native  of  Syracuse,  who  had  removed  to  Athens  on  invitation  of  Pericles. 
In  443  A.C.,  when  Lysias  was  little  more  than  fifteen  years  of  age,  he 
and  his  two  brothers  joined  the  company  of  Athenians  who  went  as  colo- 
nists to  Thurium.  in  Italy.  He  there  completed  his  education  under  the 


411  A.C.]  .  LTCIAS.  443 

instruction  of  two  Syracusans,  Tisias  and  Nicias,  and  afterwards  enjoyed 
great  esteem  among  the  Thurians,  and  even  seems  to  have  taken  part  in 
the  administration  of  the  government  of  the  young  republic.  From  a 
passage  in  Aristotle,  we  learn  that  he  devoted  some  time  to  the  teaching 
of  rhetoric,  though  it*s  uncertain  whether  he  entered  upon  this  profession 
while  yet  at  Thurium,  or  did  not  commence  it-  until  after  his  return  to 
Athens,  where  we  know  that  Isseus  was  one  of  his  pupils. 

In  411  A.C.,  when  Lysias  had  attained  the  age  of  forty-seven,  after 
the  defeat  of  the  Athenians  in  Sicily,  all  persons,  both  in  Sicily  and  in 
the  south  of  Italy,  who  were  suspected  of  favoring  the  cause  of  the  Athe- 
nians, were  exposed  to  persecution ;  and  Lysias,  together  with  three 
hundred  others,  was  exiled  by  the  Spartan  party  from  Thurium,  as  a 
partisan  of  the  Athenians.  He  now  returned  to  Athens ;  but  there,  too, 
great  misfortunes  awaited  him — for,  during  the  rule  of  the  Thirty  Tyrants, 
after  the  battle  of  ^Egospotami,  he  was  looked  upon  as  an  enemy  of  the 
government,  his  large  property  was  confiscated,  and  he  was  thrown  into 
prison  with  a  view  to  be  put  to  death.  But  he  escaped  from  Athens,  and 
took  refuge  at  Megara.  His  attachment  to  Athens,  however,  was  so 
great,  that  when  Thrasybulus,  at  the  head  of  the  patriots,  marched  from 
Phyle  to  liberate  their  country,  Lysias  joyfully  sacrificed  all  that  yet 
remained  of  his  fortune,  and  sent  to  the  assistance  of  the  patriots  two 
thousand  drachmas  and  two  hundred  shields,  and  engaged  a  band  of  three 
hundred  and  two  mercenaries.  Thrasybulus  procured  him  the  Athenian 
franchise,  as  a  reward  *for  his  generosity ;  but  Archinus  afterwards  in- 
duced the  people  to  declare  it  void,  because  it  had  been  conferred  without 
a  probuleuma ;  and  Lysias  henceforth  lived  at  Athens  as  an  isoteles, 
occupying  himself,  as  it  appears,  solely  with  writing  judicial  speeches  for 
others,  and  died  378  A.C.,  in  the  eightieth  year  of  his  age. 

Lysias  was  one  of  the -most  prolific  writers  of  orations  that  Athens 
ever  produced — antiquity  attributing  to  him  no  less  than  four  hundred 
and  twenty-five  productions  of  this  kind,  though  the  ancient  critics  were 
generally  of  opinion  that  no  more  than  two  hundred  and  thirty  of  them 
were  genuine  productions  of  Lysias.  Of  these  orations  thirty-five  only 
are  extant,  and  even  among  these  some  are  incomplete,  and  others  are 
probably  spurious.  Of  fifty-three  others  we  possess  only  a  few  fragments. 
These  orations  were  chiefly  written  after  his  return  from  Thurium  to 
Athens ;  and  of  the  whole  number  that  against  Eratosthenes  only,  com- 
posed in  403  A.C.,  was  delivered  by  himself  in  court.  Some  among 
them,  doubtless,  belong  to  an  earlier  period  of  the  author's  life,  when  he 
treated  his  art  more  from  a  theoretical  point  of  view ;  and  they  must  be 
regarded,  therefore,  as  rhetorical  exercises.  But  from  the*  commence- 
ment of  his  speech  against  Eratosthenes,  we  must  conclude  that  his  real 
career  as  an  orator  began  about  403  A.C. 

Among  the  lost  works  of  Lycias,  a  manual  of  rhetoric  may  be  men- 
tioned— probably  one  of  his  early  productions. 


444  ISO  CRATES.  -  [LECT.  XVII. 

The  only  criticism  upon  Lycias  of  any  importance,  which  has  come 
down  to  us,  is  that  of  Dionysius  of  Halicarnassus,  together  with  a  few 
remarks  of  Photius.  According  to  the  judgment  of  Dionysius,  and  the 
occasional  remaps  of  others,  all  of  which  are  sustained  by  a  careful 
examination  of  the  orations  still  extant,  the  diction  of  Lycias  is  perfectly 
pure,  and  may  be  looked  upon  as  the  best  canon  of  the  Attic  idiom ;  his 
language  is  natural  and  simple,  but  at  the  same  time  noble  and  dignified : 
it  is  always  clear  and  lucid  ;  the  copiousness  of  his  style  does  not  injure 
its  precision  :  nor  can  his  rhetorical  embellishments  be  considered  as  im- 
pairing the  charming  simplicity  of  his  style.  His  delineations  of  charac- 
ter are  always  striking  and  true  to  life.  But  what  characterizes  his  ora- 
tions above  those  of  all  other  ancients,  is  the  indescribable  gracefulness 
and  elegance  which  pervade  all  of  them,  without,  in  the  least,  impairing 
their  power  and  energy ;  and  this  gracefulness  was  considered  as  so  pecu- 
liar a  feature  in  all  Lysias'  productions,  that  Dionysius  thought  it  a  fit 
criterion  by  which  the  genuine  works  of  Lysias  might  be  distinguished 
from  the  spurious  pieces  that  went  by  his  name.  The  manner  in  which  he 
treats  his  subjects  is  equally  deserving  of  high  praise  ;  and  it  is,  therefore, 
no  matter  of  surprise  that,  among  the  many  orations  he  wrote  for.  others, 
two  only  are  said  to  have  been  unsuccessful. 

Isocrates  was  the  son  of  Theodorus,  and  was  born  at  Athens  436  A.C. 
His  father  was  a  man  of  considerable  wealth,  and  owned  a  manufactory 
of  flutes  or  other  musical  instruments,  on  accountPof  which  Isocrates  was 
often  ridiculed  by  the  comic  poets  of  the  age  ;  but  Theodorus  made  good 
use  of  his  property,  in  procuring  for  his  son  the  best  education  that  could 
be  obtained.  The  most  celebrated  instructors  of  the  age  are  mentioned 
among  his  teachers ;  such  as  Tisias,  G-orgias,  Prodicus,  and  also  Socrates 
and  Theramenes. 

Isocrates  was  naturally  timid,  and  of  a  weakly  constitution,  on  account 
of  which  he  abstained  from  taking  any  direct  part  in  the  political  affairs  of 
his  country,  but  resolved,  by  teaching  and  writing,  to  contribute  towards 
the  development  of  eloquence,  and  thus  to  guide  others  in  the  path  for 
which  his  own  constitution  unfitted  him.  According  to  some  accounts, 
he  devoted  himself  to  the  teaching  of  rhetoric  for  the  purpose  of  amelio- 
rating his  circumstances,  as  he  had  lost  his  paternal  inheritance  in  the 
war  against  the  Lacedaemonians.  Isocrates  first  established  &  school  of 
rhetoric  in  the  island  of  Chios,  but  his  success  does  not  appear  to  have 
been  very  great,  since  he  is  said  to  have  had  only  nine  pupils.  While  in 
Chios  he,  however,  exerted  himself  in  another  direction,  and  regulated 
the  political"  condition  of  that  island  after  the  model  of  Athens. 

His  ill  success  in  Chios,  induced  Isocrates  to  return  to  his  native 
place ;  and  having  opened  in  Athens  a  school  of  rhetoric,  such  was  his 
success  that  his  school  soon  contained  a  hundred  pupils,  each  of  whom 
paid  him  one  thousand  drachmas.  In 'addition  to  this  he  made  a  large 


SOD  A.C.]  1BOCRATES.  445 

income  by  writing  orations ;  thus  Plutarch  relates  that  Nicocles,  king  of 
Cyprus,  gave  Isocrates  twenty  talents  for  a  single  performance  of  this 
kind.  In  this  manner  he  gradually  acquired  a  considerable  property, 
and  he  was  several  times  called  upon  to  undertake  the  expensive  trier- 
archy..  This  happened  first  in  355  A.C.,  on  which  occasion  he  was  ex- 
cused on  account  of  ill  health ;  but  when,  in  352  A.C.,  he  was  again 
called  upon,  he  performed  the  duty  in  the  most  splendid  manner.  One 
of  his  finest  orations  refers  to  this  event. 

Isocrates  has  the  great  merit  of  being  the  first  who  clearly  saw  the 
great  value  and  importance  of  oratory  in  its  practical  application  to 
public  life  and  the  affairs  of  the  State.  At  the  same  time  he  endeavored 
to  base  public  oratory  upon  sound  moral  principles,  and  thus  to  rescue 
it  from  the  influence  of  the  sophists,  who  used  and  abused  it  for  any  and 
every  purpose;  for  Isocrates,  although  educated  by  the  most  eminent 
sophists,  was  himself  the  avowed  enemy  of  all  sophistry.  He  was  not, 
however,  altogether  free  from  their  influence ;  and  what  is  most  con- 
spicuous in  his  political  discourses,  is  the  absence  of  all  practical  knowl- 
edge of  real  political  life,  so  that  his  fine  theories,  though  they  were  un- 
questionably well  meant,  bear  a  strong  resemblance  to  the  visions  of  an 
enthusiast.  The  influence  which  he  exercised  on  his  country  by  his 
oratory  must  have  been  limited,  since  his  exertions  were  confined  to  the 
school ;  but  through  his  school  he  had  the  greatest  possible  influence 
upon  the  development  of  public  oratory ;  for  the  most  eminent  states- 
men, philosophers,  orators,  and  historians  of  the  time,  were  trained  in  it, 
and  afterwards  developed,  each  in  his  particular  way,  the  principles  they 
had  imbibed  in  his  school. 

Of  all  the  rhetoricians  of  antiquity,  none  had  so  many  disciples  that 
afterwards  shed  lustre  on  their  country  as  Isdcrates.  Whether  the 
political  views  he  entertained  were  practical  and  wise,  or  not,  it  must  be 
confessed  that  he  was  a  sincere  lover  of  his  native  land,  and  that  the 
greatness  and  glory  of  Athens  were  the  chief  objects  for  which  he. was 
laboring;  and  hence,  when,  in  338  A.C.,  the  battle  of  Chseronea  had 
destroyed  the  last  hopes  of  freedom  and  independence,  Isocrates  "put  an 
end  to  his  own  existence — unable  to  survive  the  downfall  of  his-  beloved 
country.  .  • 

The  language  of  Isocrates  is  the  purest  and  most  refined  Attic  dialect, 
and  in  this  respect  forms  a  great  contrast  with  the  natural  simplicity  of 
Lysias,  as  well  as  with  the  sublime  power  of  Demosthenes.  His  artificial 
style  is  more  elegant  than  graceful,  and.  more  ostentatious  than  pleasing ; 
the  carefully-rounded  periods,  the  frequent  application  of  figurative  lan- 
guage and  figurative  expressions,  are  features  which  remind  us  of  the 
sophists ;  and  although  his  sentences  flow  very  melodiously,  yet  they 
become  wearisome  and  monotonous  by  the  perpetual  occurrence  of  the 
same  over-refined  periods,  which  are  not  relieved  by  being  interspersed 
with  shorter  and  easier  sentences.  It  should  be  remembered,  however, 


446  ISAEUS.  [LECT  XVTI. 

that  Isocrates  wrote  his  orations  to  be  read,  and  not  to  be  recited  in  public. 
The  immense  care  he  bestowed  upon  their  composition,  and  the  time  he 
spent  in  elaborating  and  polishing  them,  may  be  inferred  from  the  state 
ment  of  Quintilian,  who  assures  us  that  he  spent  ten  years  on  his  Pane- 
gyric oration  alone.  To  this  very  care  and  labor  in  the  arrangement  and 
treatment  of  his  subjects,  is  to  be  attributed  the  superiority  of  Isocrates 
to  Lysias  and  the  other  orators  of  the  age. 

Antiquity  possessed  sixty  orations  that  were  attributed  to  Isocrates, 
but  Caecilius,  a  rhetorician  of  the  age  of  Augustus,  recognized  but 
twenty-eight  of  them  as  genuine ;  and  of  these  only  twenty-one  have 
come  down  to  us.  Eight  of  these  were  written  for  judicial  purposes  in 
civil  cases,  and  intended  to  serve  as  models  for  this  species  of  oratory — 
all  the  others  are  political  discourses  or 'show-speeches,  intended  to  be 
read  by  a  large  public ;  they  are  particularly  characterized  by  the  ethical 
element  on  which  his  political  views  were  based.'  Besides  these  entire 
orations,  we  have  the  titles  and  fragments  of  twenty-seven  other  orations, 
which  are  referred  to  under  this  author's  name.  Ten  letters  also  are 
attributed  to  Isocrates,  said  to  have  been  written  to  friends  on  political 
questions  of  the  day ;  and  also  a  scientific  manual  of  rhetoric.  Of  the 
latter,  however,  only  a  few  fragments  have  been  preserved — not  sufficient 
to  enable  us  to  form  any  correct  judgment  of  the  general  merits  of  the 
work. 

Isaeus  was  the  son  of  Diagoras,  and  was  born  at  Calchis,  in  Euboea ; 
but  at  what  precise  date  is  uncertain.  He  early  removed  to  Athens,  and 
there  flourished  between  400  A.C.  and  348  A.C. ;  and  is  represented  to 
have  been  instructed  in  oratory  by  both  Lysias  and  Isocrates.  He  was 
afterwards  engaged  in  writing  judicial  orations  for  others,  and  finally 
established  a  rhetorical  school  at  Athens,  in  which  Demosthenes  is  said 
to  have  been  one  of  his  pupils.  Suidas  states  that  Isaeus  instructed  him 
gratuitously,  but  Plutarch  says  that  he  received  ten  thousand  drachmas 
for  his  instruction ;  and  also  remarks  that  Isaeus  composed  for  Demos- 
thenes*the  speeches  delivered  against  his  guardians,  or  at  least  assisted 
him  in  their  composition.  All  farther  particulars  about  his  life  are  un- 
known, and  were  so  even  in  the  time  of  Dionysius,  by  whom  his  name 
even  is  not  mentioned  among  the  disciples  of  Isocrates. 

Antiquity  contained  sixty-four  orations  which  bore  the  name  of  Isaeus, 
but  the  ancient  critics  recognized  fifty  only  of  them  as  genuine.  Of  these 
only  eleven  have  come  down  to  us ;  but  we  possess  fragments  and  the 
titles  of  fifty-six  speeches  ascribed  to  him.  The  eleven  extant  orations 
are  all  on  subjects  connected  with  disputed  inheritances ;  and  Isaeus 
seems  to  have  been  particularly  well  acquainted  with  the  laws  relating  to 
inheritance.  Ten  of  these  orations"  had  been  known  from  the  revival 
of  letters ;  but  the  eleventh  was  first  published  from  a  Florentine  manu- 
script in  1785. 


S96  A.C.]  LYCURGUS.  447 

The  oratory  of  Isaeus  resembles,  in  many  respects,  that  of  his  teacher, 
Lysias.  The  style-  of  both  is  pure,  clear,  and  concise ;  but  while  Lysias 
is  at  the  same  time  simple  and  graceful,  Isaeus  evidently  strives  to  attain 
a  higher  degree  of  polish  and  refinement,  without,  however,  in  the  least 
injuring  the  powerful  and  impressive  character  of  his  oratory.  The  same 
spirit  is  visible  in  the  manner  in  which  he  handles  his  subjects,  especially 
in  their  skilful  division,  and  in  the  artful  manner  in  which  he  interweaves 
his  argument  with  various  parts  of  the  exposition,  whereby  his  orations 
become  like  a  painting  in  which  light  and  shade  are  distributed  with  a 
distinct  view  to  produce  certain  effects.  It  was  chiefly  in  consequence  of 
this  mode  of  management  that  Isaeus  was  envied  and  censured  by  his 
contemporaries,  as  if  he  had  tried  to  deceive  and  misguide  his  hearers. 
He  was  one  of  the  first  orators  who  turned  the  attention  of  his  country- 
men to  a  scientific  cultivation  of  political  oratory ;  but  excellence  in  this 
department  of  the  art  was  not  attained  till  the  time  of  Demosthenes. 

Lycurgus  was  born  at  Athens  396  A.C.,  and  was  the  son  of  Lyco- 
phron,  who  belonged  to  the  first  order  of  Athenian  nobility.  In  his  early 
life  Lycurgus  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  philosophy  in  the  school  of 
Plato,  but  he  afterwards  became  one  of  the  disciples  of  Isocrates,  and 
entered  upon  public  life  at  a  comparatively  early  age.  He  was  appointed 
three  successive  times  to  the  office  of  manager  of  the  public  revenue,  and 
held  his  office  each  time  for  five  years,  beginning  with  337  A  C.  The 
conscientiousness  with  which  he  discharged  the  duties  of  this  office  en- 
abled him  to  raise  the  public  revenue  to  the  sum  of  twelve  hundred  tal- 
ents. This,  as  well  as  the  unwearied  activity  with  which  he  labored  both 
for  increasing  the  security  anji  splendor  of  the  city  of  Athens,  gained  for 
him  the  universal  confidence  of  the  people  to  such  a  degree,  that  when 
Alexander  the  Great  demanded,  among  other  opponents  of  the  Macedo- 
nian interest,  the  surrender  of  Lycurgus  also,  who  had,  in  conjunction 
with  Demosthenes,  exerted  himself  against  the  intrigues  of  Macedonia 
even  as  early  as  the  reign  of  Philip,  the  people  of  Athens  clung  to  him, 
and  boldly  refused  to  deliver  him  up. 

Lycurgus  was  also  entrusted  with  the  superintendence  of  the  city,  and 
the  preserving  of  public  discipline;  and  the  severity  with  which  he 
watched  over  the  conduct  of  the  citizens,  became  almost  proverbial. 
He  had  a  noble  taste  for  everything  that  was  beautiful  and  grand,  as  ho 
showed  by  the  buildings  he  erected  or  contemplated,  both  for  the  use  of 
the  citizens  and  the  ornament  of  the  city ;  and  such  was  his  integrity, 
that  even  private  persons  deposited  with  him  large  sums  of  money,  which 
they  wished  to  be  kept  in  safety.  He  was  also  the  author  of  several 
legislative  enactments,  of  which  he  enforced  the  strictest  observance. 
One  of  his  laws  forbade  women  to  ride  in  chariots  at  the  celebration  of 
the  mysteries;  and  when  his  own  wife  transgressed  this  law,  she  was 
fined ;  another  ordained  that  bronze  statues  should  be  erected  to  Mschj- 


448  DEMOSTHENES.  [LEOT.  XVIL 

lus,  Sophocles,  and  Euripides,  and  that  copies  of  their  tragedies  should 
be  made  and  preserved  in  the  public  archives. 

The  '  Lives  of  the  Ten  Orators,'  ascribed  to  Plutarch,  contain  many 
and  characteristic  features  of  Lycurgus,  from  which  we  infer  that  he  was 
one  of  the  noblest  specimens  of  old  Attic  virtue,  and  a  worthy  contem- 
porary of  Demosthenes.  He  often  appeared  as  a  successful  accuser  in 
the  Athenian  courts,  but  he  himself  was  as  often  accused  by  others, 
though  he  always,  and  even  in  the  last  days  of  his  life,  succeeded  in 
silencing  his  enemies.  At  his  death,  which  occurred  323  A.C.,  he  held 
an  important  office  connected  with  the  theatre  of  Dionysus.  A  fragment 
of  an  inscription,  containing  the  account  which  he  rendered  to  the  State, 
of  his  administration  of  the  finances,  is  still  extant.  Among  the  various 
honors  which  were  conferred  upon  him  was  one  by  the  archon  Anaxicra 
tes  which  ordered  that  a  bronze  statue  should  be  erected  to  his  memory 
in  the  Ceramicus,  and  that  he  and  his  eldest  son  should  be  entertained 
in  the  prytaneum  at  the  public  expense. 

The  ancients  mention  fifteen  orations  of  Lycurgus  as  extant  in  their 
day ;  but  the  titles  of  at  least  twenty  have  been  preserved.  With  the 
exception,  however,  of  one  entire  oration  against  Leocrates,  and  some 
fragments  of  others,  all  the  rest  are  lost,  so  that  our  knowledge  of  his 
skill  and  style,  as  an  orator,  is  very  incomplete.  Dionysius  and  other 
ancient  critics  draw  particular  attention  to  the  ethical  tendency  of  his 
orations,  but  they  censure  the  harshness  of  his  metaphors,  the  inconsist- 
ency in  the  arrangement  of  his  subject,  and  his  frequent  digressions.  His 
style  is  noble  and  grand,  but  neither  elegant  nor  pleasing.  Besides  his 
orations  two  declamations  are  mentioned  by  Theon,  as  the  works  of  Ly- 
curgus ;  but  the  author  must  have  been  a  diiferent  personage  from  Ly- 
curgus, the  Attic  orator. 

Demosthenes,  the  prince  of  orators,  was  the  son  of  Demosthenes,  a 
sword  manufacturer,  and  was  born  in  one  of  the  boroughs  of  Athens  385 
A.C.  His  father,  at  his  death,  which  occurred  when  Demosthenes  was 
only  seven  years  of  age,  left  his  family  and  his  property,  which  amounted 
to  fourteen  talents,  under  the  care  of  Aphobus,  his  nephew,  a  son  of  his 
brother,  and  an  old  friend,  Therippides,  on  condition  that  the  first  should 
marry  the  widow,  and  receive  with  her  a  dowry  of  eighty  minae ;  the 
second,  marry  the  daughter  on  her  attaining  the  age  of  maturity,  and 
receive  at  once  two  talents  ;  and  the  third  receive  the  interest  of  seventy 
minag,  till  Demosthenes,  the  son,  should  come  of  age.  But  the  first  two 
of  the  guardians  refused  to  comply  with  the  stipulations  of  the  will,  and 
all  three,  notwithstanding  the  remonstrances  of  the  family,  united  in 
squandering,  or  appropriating  to  their  own  purposes,  a  great  portion  of 
the  property,  which,  by  a  prudent  administration,  might  easily  have 
been  doubled  during  Demosthenes'  minority. 

When  Demosthenes,  accordingly,  became  of  age,  only  one-twelfth  of 


366  A.C.]    .  DEMOSTHENES.  449 

his  father's  large  property  was  left;  and  the  shameful  conduct  on  the 
part  of  his  own  relations  and  guardians  which  had  wasted  it,  unquestion- 
ably exercised  a  great  influence  on  the  mind  and  character  <5f  Demos- 
thenes ;  for  it  was  probably  during  that  early  period  that,  suffering  as 
he  did  through  the  injustice  of  those  from  whom  he  had  a  right  to  expect 
protection,  his  strong  feeling  of  right  and  wrong  was  planted  and  devel- 
oped in  him — a  feeling  which  characterized  his  whole  subsequent  life. 
He  was  thus  thrown  upon  his  own4  resources,  and  the  result  was  great 
self-reliance,  independence  of  judgment,  and  his  oratory,  which  was  the 
only  art  by  which  he  could  hope  to  get  justice  done  to  himself. 

Although  Demosthenes  passed  his  youth  amidst  such  troubles  and 
vexations,  we  are  not  hence  to  infer  with  Plutarch,  that  he  grew  up 
neglected  and  without  any  education  at  all.  The  very  fact  that  his 
guardians  are  accused  of  having  refused  to  pay  his  teachers,  shows  that 
he  received  some  kind  of  education  at  least ;  and  this  idea  is  confirmed 
by  Demosthenes'  own  statement,  though  it  cannot  be  supposed  that  his 
education  was  anything  more  than  elementary.  The  many  illustrious 
personages  that  are  mentioned  as  his  teachers,  must  be  supposed  to  have 
become  connected  with  his  studies  after  he  had  attained  the  age  of  man- 
hood. He  is  even  said  to  have  been  instructed  in  philosophy  by  Plato  ; 
but  while  we  admit  that  he  may  have  known  and  esteemed  Plato,  it  is 
more  than  doubtful  whether  he  was  ever  one  of  his  scholars.  He  is  also 
said  to  have  been  instructed  in  oratory  by  Isocrates ;  but,  according  to 
the  most  accurate  information  that  we  can  obtain,  he  merely  studied  Iso- 
crates' treatise  on  rhetoric. 

That  Demosthenes  was,  however,  instructed  in  oratory  by  Isaeus,  is 
more  than  probable ;  for  at  that  time  Isaeus  was  the  most  eminent  orator 
of  Athens  in  all  matters  connected* with  the  laws  of  inheritance — the 
very  thing  which  Demosthenes  needed. .  This  idea  is  farther  sustained 
by  the  fact,  that  the  earliest  of  Demosthenes'  orations — those  against 
Aphobus  and  Onetor,  bear  so  strong  a  resemblance  to  those  of  Isaeus, 
that  the  ancients  themselves  believed  that  they  were  either  composed  by 
Isaeus  for  Demosthenes,  or  that  the  latter  had  written  them  under  the 
direction  of  the  former.  We  may  therefore  suppose,  without  much 
hesitation,  that  during  the  latter  years  of  his  minority,  Demosthenes 
privately  prepared  himself  for  the  career  of  an  orator,  to  which  he  was 
urged  on  by  his  peculiar  circumstances,  no  less  than  by  the  admiration 
he  felt  for  the  orators  of  his  time,  and  that  during  the  first  years  after 
he  had  attained  the  age  of  manhood,  he  availed  himself  of  the  instructions 
of  Isaeus. 

In  366  A.C.,  immediately  after  Demosthenes  became  of  age,  he  called 
upon  his  guardiaffs  to  render  him  an  account  of  their  administration  of 
his  property;  but  by  intrigue  they  contrived  to  defer  the  matter  for  two 
years,  which  was,  perhaps,  the  less  disagreeable  to  him,  as  it  afforded 
him  an  opportunity  to  acquire  the  legal  knowledge  and  oratorical  power 

29 


450  DEMOSTHENES.  [LECT.  XVIL 

which  he  required  to  enable  him  to  come  forward  in  his  own  cause  with 
any  hope  of  success.  In  the  course  of  these  two  years,  however,  the  sub- 
ject was  .twice  investigated  by  the  magistrates,  and  was  decided  each 
time  in  favor  of  Demosthenes.  At  length,  in  the  third  year  after  he 
became  of  age,  Demosthenes,  in  364  A.C.,  brought  his  accusation  against 
Aphobus  before  the  archon  Timocrates,  reserving  to  himself  the  right  to 
bring  similar  charges  against  Demophon  and  Therippides ;  which,  how- 
ever, he  appears,  for  some  reason,  -never  to  have  done.  Aphobus  was 
condemned  to  pay  a  fine  of  ten  talents;  notwithstanding  he  resorted, 
during  the  trial,  to  every  intrigue  possible,  for  the  purpose  of  preventing 
the  judgment  from  going  against  him.  The  extant  orations  of  Demos- 
thenes against  Ajphobus,  who  still  endeavored  to  prevent  him  from  taking 
possession  of  his  property,  all  refer  to  these  transactions. 

Demosthenes  had'  thus  gained  a  signal  victory  over  his  enemies,  not- 
withstanding all  the  extraordinary  disadvantages  under  which  he  labored ; 
for  his  physical  constitution  was  weak,  and  his  organ  of  speech  defective 
— whence,  probably,  he  derived  the  nickname  of  stammerer — and  it  was 
only  through  the  most  unwearied  and  persevering  exertions  that  he  even- 
tually succeeded  in  removing  the  obstacles  and  overcoming  the  difficulties 
which  nature  had  placed  in  his  way.  These  exertions  were  probably 
made  by  him  after  he  had  attained  the  age  of  manhood ;  and  in  this 
manner,  and  by  speaking  in  various  civil  cases,  he  prepared  himself  for 
the  career*  of  a  political  orator  and  statesman.  Whether  Demosthenes, 
like  most  of  his  predecessors,  engaged  in  the  business  of  teaching  rhetoric 
or  not,  is  rather  uncertain,  though  some  of  his  Greek  biographers  seem 
to  think  that  he  did. 

The  suit  of  Demosthenes  against  Aphobus,  made  the  formidable 
Midias  his  implacable  enemy ;  and  ^:he  danger  to  which  he  thus  became 
exposed  was  the  more  fearful,  since,  except  his  personal  powers  and 
virtues,  he  had  nothing  to  oppose  to  Midias,  who  was  the  most  active 
member  of  a  faction,  which,  though  yet  without  any  definite  political 
tendency,  was  preparing  the  ruin  of  the  republic  by  violating  its  laws  and 
sacrificing  its  resources  to  personal  and  selfish  interests.  The  first  acts 
of  open  hostility  were  committed  in  361  A.C.,  when  Midias  forced  his 
way  into  the  house  of  Demosthenes  and  openly  insulted  the  members  of 
his  family.  This  led  Demosthenes  to  bring  two  successive  actions  against 
him  ;  but  such  was  the  influence  of  Midias  and  his  friends,  that  they 
found  means  to  prevent  the  decision  being  given  for  a  period  of  eight 
years.  The  resolute  and  determined  spirit  of  Demosthenes  at  length  so 
irritated  Midias,  that  he  resolved  to  seek  the  first  opportunity  to  take 
revenge  upon  him  ;  and  this  opportunity  presented  itself  in  354  A.C.,  as 
Demosthenes  had,  in  that  year,  voluntarily  undertaken  the  choregia. 
Midias,  on  this  occasion,  not  only  endeavored  in  all  possible  ways  to  pre- 
vent Demosthenes  from  discharging  his  office  in  its  proper. form,  but 
attacked  him  with  open  violence  during  the  celebration  of  the  great 


356  A.C.]  DEMOSTHENES.  451 

Dionysia.  Such  an  act,  committed  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  com- 
munity, demanded  reparation,  and  Demosthenes,  accordingly,  brought  a 
suit  against  him  for  this  purpose.  Public  opinion  condemned  Midias, 
and  it  was  in  vain  that  he  used  every  possible  effort  to  intimidate  Demos- 
thenes, who^remained  firm  in  spite  of  all  his  enemy's  machinations,  until 
at  length  Midias  was  compelled  to  propose  an  "amicable  arrangement, 
which  Demosthenes  accepted,  and  withdrew  his  accusation. 

Demosthenes  had,  some  years  before  this  event,  appeared  as  a. speaker 
in  the  public  assembly;  for,  in  355  A.C.,  he  had  delivered  his  orations 
against  Leptines  and  Androtion,  and  in  353  A.C.,  the  oration  against 
Timocrates.  The  general  esteem  which  Demosthenes,  at  that  early 
period,  enjoyed,  is  sufficiently  attested  by  the  fact,  that  in  354  A.C.,  not- 
withstanding all  the  intrigues  of  Midias,  he  was  elevated  to  a  most  honor- 
able position  by  the  suffrages  of  his  fellow  citizens,  and  in  the  year  fol- 
lowing he  conducted,  in  the  capacity  of  architheoros,  the  usual  theoria, 
which  the  State  of  Athens  sent  to  the  festival  of  the  Nemean  Zeus.  The 
active  part  he  took  in  public  affairs  is  farther  attested  by  the  orations 
which  belong  to  this  period.  In  354  A.C.  he  spoke  against  the  projected 
expedition  to  Eubrea,  though  without  success,  and  he  himself  joined  in  it 
under  Phocion.  In  the  same  year  he  delivered  an  oration,  in  which  he 
successfully  dissuaded  the  Athenians  from  their  foolish  scheme  of  under- 
taking a  war  against  Persia ;  and^in  353  A.C.  he  spoke  for  the  Megalo- 
politans,  and  opposed  the  Spartans,  who  had  solicited  the  aid  of  Athens 
to  reduce  Megalopolis. 

All  these  individual  efforts  of  Demosthenes  were,  however,  but  prepar- 
atory to  his  great  public  career,  which  properly  commenced  356  A.C.,  as 
one  of  the  leading  statesmen  of  Athens ;  and  henceforth  the  history  of 
his  life  is  closely  mixed  up  with  that  of  his  country ;  for  there  is  no 
question  affecting  the  public  good,  in  which  he  did  not  take  a  most  active 
part,  and  support  with  all  the  power  of  his  oratory  what  he  considered 
right  and  beneficial  to  the  State. 

Philip  of  Macedon  had,  two.  years  previous  to  that  time,  deliberately 
commenced  the  operations,  the  ultimate  design  of  which  was  to  enslave 
southern  Greece;  and  in  every  step  he  took  he  found  the  vigilant  eye  of 
Demosthenes  upon  him,  exposing  his  hypocrisy  and  thwarting  his  pur- 
poses. His  patriotic  feelings  and  convictions  against  Macedonian  aggran- 
dizement, drew  forth  his  Philippics — perhaps  the  most  splendid  series  of 
orations  ever  delivered.  They  did  not,  it  is  true,  produce  the  desired 
result,  but  the  fault  was  not  his,  and  the  cause  of  their  failure  must  be 
sought  in  the  state  of  general  dissolution  in  the  Greek  republics  at  the 
time ;  for,  while  Philip  occupied  his  threatening  position,  the  Phocians 
were  engaged  in  a  war  for  life  and  death  with  the  Thebans ;  the  States 
of  Peloponnesus  looked  upon  one  another  with  mistrust  and  hatred ;  and  it 
was  only  with,  great  difficulty  that  Athens  could  maintain  a  shadow  of 
her  former1  supremacy  Tinder  all  these  disadvantages  the  surpassing 


452  DEMOSTHENES.  [LECT.  XVII. 

eloquence  of  Demosthenes  protracted  the  contest  for  twenty  long  and 
tedious  years ;  but  at  length,  in  the  fatal  battle  of  Chasronea,  all  was  lost, 
and  thenceforth 

Greece,  was  living  Greece  no  more. 

The  death  of  Philip,  336  A.C.,  revived  among  the  Greeks  the  hope  of 
shaking  off  the  Macedonian  yoke.  All  Greece  rose,  and  especially 
Athens,. where  Demosthenes,  though  weighed  down  with  domestic  grief, 
was  the  first  joyfully  to  proclaim  the  tidings  of  Philip's  death,  to  call 
upon  the  Greeks  to  unite  their  strength  against  Macedonia,  and  to  form 
new  connections  in  Asia.  But  the  sudden  appearance  of  Alexander  be- 
fore Thebes  damped  their  ardor  and  enthusiasm,  and  Athens  sent  an 
embassy  to  him  to  sue  for  peace.  Demosthenes  was  chosen  one  of  the 
ambassadors  ;  but  his  feelings  against  the  Macedonians  were  so  strong, 
that  he  preferred  to  expose  himself  to  the  ridicule  of  his  enemies  by  re- 
turning, after  having  gone  half  way,  than  act  the  part  of  a  suppliant 
before  the  youthful  king.  The  destruction  of  Thebes,  335  A.C.,  put  an 
end  to  all  farther  attempts  of  the  Greeks  for  independence.  Athens  sub- 
mitted to  the  necessity,  and  sent  Demades  to  the  king  as  mediator. 
Alexander  demanded  that  the  lea.ders  of  the  popular  party,  and  among 
them  Demosthenes,  should  be  delivered  up  to  him ;  but  he  at  length 
yielded  to  the  entreaties  of  the  Athenians,  and  did  not  persist  in  his 
demand. 

Alexander's  departure  for  Asia  left  Greece  in  such  a  state,  that  a  spark 
only  from  without  was  required  to  make  it  blaze  forth  throughout  the 
land.  That  spark  eventually  came  from  Harpalus,  who  had  been  left  by 
Alexander  at  Babylon,  while  the  king  proceeded  to  India.  When  Alex- 
ander had.  reached  the  easternmost  point  of  his  expedition,  Harpalus, 
with  the  treasures  entrusted  to  his  care,  fled  from  Babylon  and  came  to 
Greece.  In  325  A.C.  he  arrived  at  Athens  ;  and  purchased  the  pro- 
tection of  the  city  by  distributing  his  gold  among  the  most  influential 
demagogues.  The  reception  of  so  open  a  rebel  gave  great  offence:  to  the 
Macedonians,  and  they  immediately  called  upon  the  Athenians  to  deliver 
up  the  rebel  and  the  money  they  had  received  of  him,  and  to  put  to  trial 
those  who  had  accepted  his  bribes.  Harpalus  was  allowed  to  escape,  but 
the  investigation  concerning  those  who  had  been  bribed  by  him  was  in- 
stituted, and  Demosthenes  was  among  those  who  were' suspected  of  the 
crime. 

The  accounts .  of  Demosthenes'  conduct'  during  the  presence  of  Har- 
palus at  Athens  are  so  confusGd,  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  arrive  at 
any  certain  conclusion  about  it ;  but  Pausanias  expressly  acquits  him  of 
all  participation  in  the  offence.  The  power  of  the  Macedonian  party  was 
at  that  time  in  the  ascendant  at  Athens,  and  Demosthenes  was  sentenced 
to  banishment.  He  was  at  once  cast  into  prison,  from  whicji,  however,  he 
escaped,  and  retired  to  .ZEgina,  looking  daily,  it  is  said,  across  the  sea, 


323  A.C.]  DEMOSTHENES.  453 

towards  his  native  land.  His  exile  did  not,  however,  last  long ;  for,  on 
the  death  of  Alexander,  which  occurred  in  323  A.C.,  Demosthenes  was 
recalled  from  banishment,  to  aid,  by  his  counsels,  the  rising  struggle  of 
the  Grecian  States  that  immediately  followed.  The  struggle,  however, 
proved  ineffectual :  Greece  was  re-subdued  by  Antipater ;  and  Demos- 
thenes was  condemned  to  death.  Previous  to  his  sentence  he  retired  to 
Calauria,  and  took  refuge  in  the  temple  of  Poseidon.  When  Archias, 
who  pursued  the  fugitive  everywhere,  arrived,  Demosthenes,  who  was 
summoned  to  follow  him  to  Antipater,  took  poison,  which  he  had  for 
some  time  kept  about  his  person,  and  died  in  the  temple  of  Poseidon, 
322  A.C.,  and  in  the  sixty-fourth  year  of  his  age. 

Thus  terminated  the  career  of  a  man  who  has,  in  all  ages,  been  ranked 
amongst  the  greatest  and  noblest  spirits  of  antiquity ;  and  his  fame  will 
remain  undini-inished  as  long  as  sterling  sentiments  and  principles,  and  a 
consistent  conduct  through  life,  are  regarded  as  the  standard  by  which  a 
man's  worth  is  measured,  and  not  simply  the  success — so  often  merely 
dependent  upon  circumstances — by  which^his  exertions  are  crowned. 
The  very  calumnies  which  have  been  heaped  upon  Demosthenes  by  his 
enemies  and  detractors,  more  extravagantly  than  upon  any  other  man — 
the  coarse  and  complicated  web  of  lies  which  was  devised  by  ^Eschines, 
and  in  which  he  himself  was  caught,  and  the  odious  insinuations  of  Theo- 
pompus,  the  historian,  which  are  credulously  repeated  by  Plutarch — 
have  only  contributed  to  bring  forth  the  political  virtues  of  Demosthenes 
in  a  more  striking  and  brilliant  light. 

There  are,  it  is  true,  some  minor  points  in  his  life  that,  in  consequence 
of  the  distorted  accounts  which  have  come  down  to  us  about  them,  will, 
perhaps,  never  be  cleared  up.  Many  of  these  are,  however,  beneath  con- 
tempt ;  such  as  that  he  took  flight  at  the  battle  of  Chseronea,  and  that, 
notwithstanding  a  severe  domestic  calamity — having  lost  his  daughter,  by 
death,  seven  days  before — he  publicly  rejoiced  at  Philip's  death,  and  also 
that  he  shed  tears  on  going  into  exile.  To  the  first  of  these  charges  we 
would  reply,  though,  in  a  soldier,  this  is  no  justification,  that  a  thousand 
others  fled  with  him ;  to  the  second,  that  the  act  only  shows  the  pre- 
dominance of  his  patriotic  feelings  over  his  personal  and  selfish  ones ;  and 
for  the  third  act,  if  it  be  true,  he  deserves  to  be  beloved  and  honored, 
rather  than  blamed.  The  charge  of  tergiversation,  which  is  so  frequently 
brought  against  him  by  ^Eschines,  has  never  been  substantiated  by  the 
least  evidence ;  and  in  his  administration  of  public  affairs  he  is  perfectly 
spotless. 

As  a  statesman,  Demosthenes'  career  received  its  greatest  lustre  from 
his  powers  as  an  orator — powers  in  which  he  was*  never,  perhaps,  equalled 
by  any  other  orator  of  the  world.  Our  own  judgment  on  this  point  must 
necessarily  be  partial,  as  we  can  only  read  his  orations ;  but  among  his 
contemporaries  there  was  scarcely  one  who  could  point  out  any  definite 
fault  in  his  oratory.  By  far  the  majority  looked  upon  him  as  the  great- 


454  JESCHINES.  [LECT  XVII. 

est  orator  of  the  time ;  and  it  was  only  men  of  such  over-refined  and 
hypercritical  tastes  as  Demetrius  Phalereus  who  thought  him  either  too 
plain  and  simple,  or  too  harsh  and  strong;  though  some  found  these 
features  more  striking  in  reading  his  orations,  while  others  were  more 
impressed  with  them  when  they  heard  him  speak.  These  peculiarities, 
however,  so  far  from  being  faults,  will  appear,  in  fact,  if  we  consider  the 
temptations  which  natural  deficiencies  hold  out  to  an  incipient  orator  to 
pursue  the  opposite  course,  proofs  of  his  extraordinary  genius.  The 
obstacles  which  his  physical  constitution  threw  in  his  way  when  he  com- 
menced his  career,  were  such,  that  one  less  courageous  and  persevering 
than  Demosthenes  would  at  once  have  been  intimidated  and  entirely 
shrunk  from  the  arduous  career  of  a  public  orator.  Those  early  difficul-  • 
ties  with  which  he  had  to  contend,  doubtless,  led  him  to  bestow  more 
care  upon  the  composition  of  his  orations  than  he  would  otherwise  have 
given  them,  and  produced,  eventually,  the  impossibility  of  speaking  extem- 
pore, at  least  the  habit  of  never  venturing  upon  it ;  for  he  never  spoke 
without  preparation,  and  he  sometimes  refused  to  speak  in  the  assembly, 
when  called  upon,  merely  because  he  was  not  prepared. 

It  may  be  interesting  to  notice  the  caused  of  the  extraordinary  im- 
pression which  the  speeches  of  Demosthenes  made  upon  the  minds  of  his 
hearers.  The  first  cause  was,  evidently,  their  pure  and  ethical  character  ; 
for  every  sentence  in  them  exhibits  him  as  the  friend  of  his  country,  of 
virtue,  truth,  and  public  decency  :  and  as  the  struggles  in  which  he  was 
engaged  were  right  and  just,  he  could,  without  scruple,  unmask  his  oppo- 
nents, and  wound  them  where  they  were  vulnerable,  though  he  never 
resorted  to  sycophantic  artifices.  The  second  cause  was  his  intellectual  . 
superiority.  By  a  wise  arrangement  of  his  subjects,  and  by  the  applica- 
tion of  the  strongest  arguments  in  their  proper  places,  he  brought  the  subjects 
before  his  hearers  in  the  clearest  possible  form  ;  any  Doubts  that  might  be 
raised  in  advance  he  anticipated,  and  thus  he  proceeded  calmly  but  irresisti- 
bly towards  the  end.  The  third  and  last  cause  was  the  magic  force  of  his 
language,  which  being  majestic  and  simple — rich,  yet  not  bombastic — 
strange,  and  yet  familiar — solemn,  without  being  ornamented — grave, 
and  yet  pleasing — concise,  and  yet  fluent — sweet,  and  yet  impressive 
carried  away  the  minds  of  his  hearers.  That  such  orations  should,  not- 
withstanding these  exalted  qualities,  sometimes  have  failed  to  produce 
the  desired  effect,  was  owing  only  to  the  spirit  of  the  times. 

Sixty-five  orations  of  Demosthenes  are  mentioned  by  the  ancients, 
though  only  sixty-one,  including  the  Letter  of  Philip,  have  come  down  to 
us  under  his  name.  Besides  these  orations,  there  are  fifty-six  Exordia 
to  public  orations,  and  six  letters  also,  which  bear  his  name ;  their 
genuineness,  however,  is  very  doubtful. 

jEschines,  the  great  rwal  of  Demosthenes,  was  born  in  Athens,  389 
A.C.  He  was  the  son  of  Tromes,  who,  according  to  Demosthenes, 


389A.C.]  JSSCHINES.  455 

was  not  a  free  citizen  of  Athens,  but  had  been  a  slave  in  the  house  of 
Elpias,  a  schoolmaster.  After  the  return  of  the  Athenian  exiles  under 
Thrasybulus,  Tromes  himself  kept  a  small  school,  and  ^Eschines,  in  his 
youth,  assisted  his  father,  and  performed  such  services  as  were  unworthy 
of  a  free  Athenian  youth.  After  having  assisted  his  father  for  some 
time,  he  left  the  school,  and  being  of  a  strong  and  athletic  constitution, 
he  engaged  himself  for  a  regular  compensation  to  a  gymnasia,  to  contend 
with  other  young  men  in  their  exercises.  He  next  served  the  distinguished 
orator  and  statesman,  Aristophon,  as  scribe,  and  subsequently  performed 
the  same  office  for  Eubulus,  a  man  of  great  influence  with  the  democratic 
party,  with  whom  he  formed  an  intimate  friendship,  and  to  whose  political 
principles  he  remained  faithful  to  the  end  of  his  life. 

ZEschines  next  turned  his  attention  to  the  stage  as  an  actor  •  but 
being  entirely  unsuccessful  in  that  calling,  he  resolved  to  enter  the 
army.  After  several  less  important  engagements  in  other  parts  of 
Greece,  he  greatly  distinguished  himself  in  the  battle  of  Mantinea,  which 
was  fought  362  A.C.  In  358  A.C.,  he  took  part  in  the  expedition  of 
the  Athenians  against  Euboea,  and  fought  in  the  battle  of  Tamynse  with 
such  bravery  as  to  be  praised  bythe  generals  on  the  spot ;  and  after  the 
victory  was  gained,  he  was  sent  to  carry  the  news  of  it  to  Athens. 
Temenides,  who  was  sent  with  him,  bore  witness  to  his  courage  and 
bravery,  and  the  Athenians  honored  him  with  a  crown. 

Two  years  before  this  campaign — the  last  in  which  he  took  part — 
.ZEschines  had  come  forward  at  Athens  as  a  public  speaker,  and  the 
military  fame  he  had  now  acquired  established  his  reputation.  His 
former  occupation  as  a  scribe  had  rendered  him  familiar  with  the  laws 
and  constitution  of  Athens,  and  his  acting  on  the  stage  had  been  a  useful 
preparation  for  public  speaking.  During  the  early  part  of  his  public 
career  he  was*  like  all  other  Athenians,  zealously  engaged  in  directing 
the  attention  of  his  fellow  citizens  to  the  growing  power  of  Philip,  and 
exhorted  them  to  check  it  before  it  became  too  late. 

In  '347  A.C.,  ten  Commissioners,  among  whom  were  ^Eschines  and 
Demosthenes,  were  sent  from  Athens  to  Philip  to  negotiate  a  treaty  of 
peace.  The  artful  and  insinuating  address  of  Philip  completely  beguiled 
the  majority  of  these  commissioners,  ^Eschines  with  the  rest ;  and  thence- 
forward he  would  think  of  nothing  but  peace  with  the  king  of  Macedon 
This  course  necessarily  placed  him  antagonistic  to  Demosthenes,  and 
hence,  during  the  remainder  of  the  life  of  Philip,  the  two  great  orators 
were  diametrically  opposed  to  each  other.  The  patriotism  of  Demos- 
thenes, through  the  whole  of  this  struggle,  was  so  universally  acknowl- 
edged, that  Ctesiphon  at  length  proposed  that  the  Athenians  should 
reward  him,  for  the  services  he  'had  rendered  to  his  country,  with  a 
golden  crown  in  the  theatre  at  the  great  Dionysia.  ^Eschines  availed 
himself  of  some  informal  technicality  in  the  nranner  in  which  this  reward 
was  proposed  to  be  given,  to  bring  a  public  charge  against  Ctesiphon. 


456  HYPERIDES.   '  [LECT.  XVIL 

The  speech  in  which  he  accused  Ctesiphon,  and  which  is  still  extant,  is 
so  skilfully  managed,  that,  if  he  had  succeeded,  -he  would  have  totally 
destroyed  all  the  political  influence  and  authority  of  Demosthenes.  The 
latter  ansvyered  JEschines  in  his  celebrated  oration  on  the  Crown ;  and 
such  was  the  power  of  his  argument  and  brilliancy  of  his  oratory,  that 
even  before  the  speech  was  closed,  JEschines  acknowledged  himself  con- 
quered, withdrew  from  the  court,  and  quitted  his  country. 

Having  thus  gone  into  voluntary  exile,  ^Eschines  took  up  his  abode  in 
Asia  Minor,  and  for  many  years  taught  rhetoric  in  Ionia  and  Caria, 
anxiously  awaiting  the  return  of  Alexander  to'  Europe.  When,  however, 
in  324  A.C.,  the  report  of  the  conqueror's  death  reached  him,  lie  retired 
into  Rhodes,  where  he  established  a  school  of  eloquence,  which  subse- 
quently, as  has  been  already  observed,  became  very  celebrated,  and 
occupies  a  middle  position  between  the  grave  manliness  of  the  Attic 
orators,  and  the  effeminate  luxuriance  of  the  so-called  Asiatic  school  of 
oratory.  On  one  occasion  he  read  to  his  audience  in  Rhodes  his  speech 
against  Ctesiphon ;  and  when  some  of  his  hearers  expressed  their  astonish- 
ment that  he  should  have  been  defeated,  notwithstanding  his  brilliant 
oration,  he  replied,  '  You  would  cease  to  be  astonished,  if  you  had  heard 
Demosthenes.'  ^Eschines  died  in  Samos,  314  A.C.,  and  in  the  seventy- 
fifth  year  of  his  age. 

Of  all  the  orations  of  jEschines  only  three  were  published — the  one 
against  Timarchus,  the  one  on  the  Embassy,  and  the  one  against  Ctesi- 
phon. He  was  endowed  by  nature  with  extraordinary  oratorical  powers, 
and,  as  a  public  speaker,  Demosthenes  only  was  his  superior.  The  facility 
and  felicity  of  his  diction,  the  boldness  and  vigor  of  his  descriptions, 
carry  away  the  reader  now,  as  they  must  have  carried  away  his  audiences. 
The  ancients,  as  Photius  remarks,  designated  these  three  orations  as  the 
Graces,  and  the  nine  letters  which  were  extant  in  the  time  of  Photius,  as' 
the  Muses,  Besides  the  three  orations,  and  the  nine  letters,  just  men- 
tioned, we  have  twelve  other  letters  ascribed  to  ^schines,  which  were 
probably  the  work  of  some  late  sophists. 

Hyperides  was  the  son  of  Grlaucippus,  and  was  a  native  of  Athens;  but 
the  exact  period  of  his  birth  has  not  been  preserved,  though  it  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  about  396  A.C.  He  was  a  friend  of  Demosthenes, 
and  with  him  and  Lycurgus,  he  was  at  the  head  of  the  anti-Macedonian 
party.  Throughout  his  public  career  he  joined  the  patriots  with  the 
utmost  determination,  and  remained  faithful  to  them  to  the  last,  even 
through  all  the  dangers  and  catastrophes  by  which  Athens  was  weighed 
down  successively,  under  Philip,  Alexander,  and  Antipater.  This  stead- 
fast adherence  to  the  good  cause  may  be  attributed  to  the  influence  which 
his  friends  Demosthenes  and  Lycurgus  exerted  over  him,  for  he  seems  to 
have  been  naturally  a  ptrson  of  vacillating  character;  and  Plutarch 
states,  that  he  sometimes  gave  way  to  -his  passions,  which  were  not  always 


585  A.C.]  DEMADES.  457 

of  the  noblest  kind.  In  philosophy  he  was  the  pupil  of  Plato,  and  Tso- 
crates  trained  and  developed  his  oratorical  powers.  Of  his  life  Irttle  is 
farther  known;  and  after  the  battle  of  Crannon,  322  A.C.,  when  all  hopes 
of  the  liberty  of  his  country  had  vanished,  he  fled  to  jEgina,  whither  he 
was  pursued  by  the  emissaries  of  Antipater,  and  put  to  death  in  the  most 
cruel  manner. 

Though  Hyperides  must  have  appeared  before  the  public  on  many  oc- 
casions, both  in  the  courts  of  justice  and  in  the  assembly  of  the  people, 
yet  nothing  of  his  orations  have  been  preserved  but  a  few  brief  fragments. 
Though  his  delivery  is  said  to  have  been  wanting  in  liveliness,  yet  his 
style  and  diction  were  pure  Attic,  and  his  oratory  both  graceful  and  pow- 
erful, thus  observing  a  medium  between  the  ease  and  elegance  of  Lysias, 
and  the  overwhelming  power  of  Demosthenes.  According  to  Cicero,  he 
treated  the  subjects  under  discussion  with  great  skill  and  ready  wit ;  and 
although  he  sometimes  had  the  appearance  of  carelessness,  yet  the  expo- 
sition of  his  subject,  and  his  argumentation,  were  worthy  of  imitation. 
The  elegance  and  gracefulness  of  his  orations  were,  however,  such  as  were 
calculated  to  produce  a  momentary,  rather  than  a  lasting  and  moral,  im- 
pression. 

Demades  was  a  native  Athenian,  but  the  time  of  his  birth  is  not 
known.  He  was  of  very  low  origin,  and  in  early  life  followed  the  pur- 
suit of  a  common  rower ;  but  by  his  extraordinary  talents,  his  demagogic 
artifices,  and  his  treachery,  he  finally  rose  to  a  very  prominent  position  at 
Athens.  He  used  his  influence,  however,  in  such  a  manner,  that  Plu- 
tarch justly  terms  him  the  shipwreck  or  ruin  of  his  country.  He  be- 
longed to  the  Macedonian  party,  and  entertained  a  deadly  hatred  of 
Demosthenes,  against  whom  he  came  forward  as  early  as  the  time  of  the 
war  against  Olynthus,  349  A.C.,  and  to  whom  he  continued  vindictively 
hostile  to  the  end  of  his  life.  His  vileness  of  character,  eventually,  how- 
ever, met  a  just  retribution;  for,  being  sent  by  the  Athenians  in  318 
A.C.,  ambassador  to  Antipater,  that  prince  discovered  his  gross  treachery 
even  to  himself,  and  immediately  ordered  that  both  he  and  his  son  who 
had  accompanied  him,  should  be  put  to  death. 

Demades  owed  his  influence  in  the  public  affairs  of  Athens  to  his  natu- 
ral skill  and  his  brilliant  oratorical  powers,  which  were  the  pure  offspring 
of  nature,  and  which  he  never  cultivated  according  to  any  rules  of  art. 
He  always  spoke  extempore,  and  with  such  irresistible  force  and  abun- 
dance of  wit,  that  he  was  a  perfect  match  for  even  Demosthenes  himself; 
and  Quintilian  does  not  hesitate  to  place  him  by  the  side  of  Pericles. 
As  he  left  no  written  orations,  however,  we  have  at  present  no  other 
means  of  judging  of  the  character  of  his  eloquence,  than  the  reports  of 
his  contemporaries. 

Of  Dinarchus  and  Demetrius  Phalereus  no  extended  notice  is,  in  this 


458  DIN  ARC  HITS.  [LECT.  XVII. 

connection,  required.  The  former  was  a  native  of  Corinth,  but  passed 
his  youth  chiefly  at  Athens.  He  studied  philosophy  under  Theophras- 
tus,  and  as  an  orator  became  celebrated  after  the  death  of  Demosthenes. 
Three  of  his  orations  still  remain ;  and  by  composing  for  others,  he  is 
said  to  have  acquired  very  considerable  wealth.  The  latter  was  more 
remarkable  as  a  politician  than  as  an  orator,  and,  in  the  course  of  a  very 
chequered  life,  filled  many  high  and  important  stations. 


Kninn 

HISTORY. 


PHERECYDES  —  CADMUS  — HECAT^EUS— ACUSIL  AUS— CHARON— X  AN- 
THUS  —  HELL  ANICUS— HERODOTUS— THUG  YDIDES— XENOPHON— 
CTESI AS  — THEOPOMPUS— POLYBIUS  —  DIODORUS  SICULUS  —  DIO- 
NYSIUS  H AtJC ARNASSUS  —  PLUTARCH— ARRI AN— APPI AN— DION 
CASSIUS— ^ELIAN. 

IN  the  earlier  ages  of  antiquity,  the  Greeks,  in  common  with  most  other 
ancient  nations,  possessed  scarcely  anything  that  might  be  called  regu- 
lar historical  records.  The  art  of  writing  was  not  yet  brought  into  that 
frequent  and  general  use  which  is  requisite  for  such  purposes.  Oral  tra- 
ditions, visible  monuments,  and  commemorative  festivals,  were  the  prin- 
cipal means  used  for  transmitting  a  knowledge  of  important  events  and 
interesting  facts  from  one  age  to  another.  The  oral  traditions  were  com- 
monly thrown  into  the  form  of  verse  or  song ;  and  in  this  manner,  poets 
became  the  first  historians.  Their  poems,  in  the  epic,  the  lyric,  or  the 
dramatic  form,  presented  the  story  of  the  fabulous  and  heroic  ages  in  the 
most  attractive  garb  and  were  impressed  upon  the  memory  in  early  edu- 
cation :  they  were  sung  also  at  the  festivals  and  the  funeral  celebrations 
of  heroes,  and  afterwards,  by  means  of  written  copies,  extensively  circu- 
lated. In  later  ages,  when  the  use  of  writing  became  more  common,  and 
prose  composition  began  to  be  cultivated,  its  first,  and  for  some  time,  its 
principal  application,  was  to  historical  narration. 

Phereeydes,  of  the  island  of  Leros,  and  Cadmus  and  Hecatceus,  of  Mi- 
letus, all  of  whom  flourished  about  550  A.C.,  are  uniformly  named  as  the 
earliest  writers  of  history  in  prose.  It  was  at  this  period  that  truth  and 
fable  first  began  to  be  carefully  distinguished  from  each  other — the  former 
being  now  selected  as  the  proper  material  for  prose  and  history,  and  the 
latter  still  left  to  the  exclusive  use  of  the  poets.  Afterwards  writers 
began  to  record  the  history  of  their  own  times,  and  connect  it  with  the 
traditionary  accounts  of  former  ages.  As  the  art  of  writing  was  now 
more  sedulously  cultivated,  and  thought  extended,  the  theory  of  historical 


460  HISTORY.  [LKCT.  XVIII. 

composition  began  to  be  thoroughly  investigated  and  fixed  on  philosophi- 
cal principles. 

Most  of  the  early  Grecian  writers  of  history  were  natives  of  Asia 
Minor,  or  of  the  neighboring  islands,  and  were  called  logographers. 
These  authors,  besides  drawing  their  materials  from  traditionary  accounts 
and  the  works  of  poets,  consulted  also  all  the  monuments  of  antiquity ; 
such  as,  inscriptions,  altars,  statues,  and  edifices  erected  or  consecrated  in 
connection  with  particular  events.  The  logographies  were  the  first  fruit 
of  this  spirit  of  investigation :  they  were  a  kind  of  writing  holding  an 
intermediate  place  between  epic  poetry  aiM  veritable  history.  Of  them, 
no  entire  specimen  remains ;  but  we  have  many  fragments  for  which  we 
are  indebted  to  quotations  made  by  historians  and  writers  on  mythology 
in  later  periods,  by  the  scholiasts,  and  by  some  of  the  Christian  Fathers. 
The  works  of  the  three  prose  writers  just  named  "belonged  to  this  class ; 
and  Pliny  informs  us  that  Cadmus  was  the  most  ancient  author  of  this 
kind.  Of  Acusilaus  of  Argos,  Charon  of  Lampsacus,  Xanthus  of  Sar- 
dis,  Hellanicus  of  Mitylene,  there  are  also  very  considerable  fragments 
still  extant.  These  writers  are,  however,  scarcely  entitled  to  the  name 
of  historians. 

Herodotus  was  the  earliest  Greek  author  to  give  a  finished  and  con- 
nected form  to  the  narration  of  interesting  events,  and  was,  therefore,  by 
Cicero,  with  much  justice,  styled  the  father  of  history.  He  was  soon  fol- 
lowed, however,  by  Thucydides  and  Xenophon — two  writers  of  equal  ge- 
nius with  himself.  Qf  all  the  Greek  historians  these  three  are  the  most 
eminent,  and  their  works  are  among  the  most  valuable  remains  of  Greek 
prose  composition.  They  all  belong  to  the  most  brilliant  period  of  Gre- 
cian literature ;  they  wrote  chiefly  upon  Grecian  affairs,  and  are  the  prin- 
cipal source  of  our  knowledge  respecting  the  Grecian  States,  in  the  period 
to  which  they  relate.  Several  other  historians  soon  followed  these  eminent 
writers ;  but  they  are  known  to  us  only  by  a  few  fragments  of  their  works, 
or  by  the  judgment  passed  upon  them  by  ancient  writers.  The  most  cel- 
ebrated of  these  were  Ctesias,  a  contemporary  of  Xenophon,  and  Tlieo- 
pompus,  who  lived  a  short  time  after.  We  have  a  few  brief  fragments 
also,  of  Philistus  of  Syracuse,  and  Ephorus  of  Cumae. 

Besides  these  general  historians,  it  may  be  well  here  to  notice  a  class 
of  writers  who  confined  their  attention  entirely  to  the  history  and  an- 
tiquity of  Athens.  Their  works  are  usually  cited  under  the  common 
name  of  Treatises  on  Attica.  As  the  materials  for  these  works  were 
drawn,  not  merely  from  loose  traditions,  but  from  various  authentic 
sources,  their  loss  is  to  be  deeply  regretted,  although  they  were,  no  doubt, 
abundantly  charged  with  fable,  and  full  of  pictures  of  imagination.  Of 
this  class  of  writers,  Demo,  Androtion,  Philocorus,  and  Ister  are  the 
most  distinguished. 

Of  the  historians  who  flourished  after  the  death  of  Alexander  the 
Great,  and  previous  to  the  final  subjection  of  Greece  by  the  Romans,  Po~ 


200  A.C.]  HISTORY.  461 

lybius,  of  Megalopolis,  was  the  principal.  Polybius  published  several 
historical  works,  which  unfortunately  are  now  all  lost,  with  the  exception 
of  a  part  of  his  Universal  History.  This  work,  in  its  kind,  was  without 
a  rival.  In  style  and  eloquence  it  may  be  greatly  inferior  to  the  histori- 
cal works  of  the  great  masters  of  the  preceding  era ;  but  it  was  the  first 
successful  attempt  to  exhibit,  in  a  philosophical  manner,  the  principles 
of  morals  and  politics  as  developed  in  the  changes  of  human  society. 
Polybius  may,  therefore,  be  justly  ranked  among  the  most  distinguished 
of  ancient  historians.  In  the  same  age  there  were  numerous  other  wri- 
ters who  composed  historical  performances,  relating  chiefly  to  the  life  and 
exploits  of  Alexander,  although  often  including  much  other  matter. 
Scarcely  anything  from  their  pens  has,  however,  been  preserved.  Of 
these  writers,  Hieronymus,  Calisthenes,  Diodotus,  Nearchus,  and  Nym- 
phis  were  the  most  important. 

The  same  age  produced  other  historical  writers  upon  whom  we  must 
here  bestow  a  passing  notice.  Of  these,  Berosus,  the  Chaldean  priest, 
Abydenus,  his  disciple,  and  Manetho,  of  Diospolis  in  Egypt,  are  the  most 
prominent.  We  may  also  mention,  in  this  connection,  Timceus  of  Tau- 
romenium,  who,  after  being  banished  from  Sicily,  resided  for  a  long  time 
at  Athens,  and  is  quoted  by  Cicero  as  a  model  of  the  Asiatic  style  of 
eloquence.  Aratus  of  Sicyon,  whom  we  have  already  particularly  no- 
ticed among  the  Grecian  poets,  Phylarchus,  his  contemporary,  and  Pole- 
mo  Periegetes  belong  also  to  this  period.  The  most  important  fragments 
that  remain  of  the  writings  of  all  these  authors  are  those  that  belong  to 
Berosus  and  Manetho. 

Under  Roman  supremacy  in  Greece  a  great  number  of  historians  were 
produced,  but  they  were  all  of  secondary  rank.  Of  those  who  wrote  be- 
fore the  Christian  era,  the  two  most  important  were  Diodorus  Siculus 
and  Dionysius'of  Halicarnassus.  These  two  writers  flourished  almost 
immediately  before  the  new  era,  and  a  very  considerable  part  of  their 
works  are  still  oxtant.  There  were  several  other  authors  of  the  same 
age,  whose  works  are  now  lost ;  such  as  Castor  of  Rhodes,  a  contem- 
porary of  Julius  Caesar,  Theophantes  of  Mitylene,  the  friend  and  biogra- 
pher of  Pompey  the  Great,  Timctgenes  of  Alexandria,  selected  by  Augus- 
tus as  his  historiographer,  but  discarded  for  certain  imprudent  sallies  of 
wit,  Posidonius  the  stoic,  and  Juba,  a  son  of  the  king  of  Numidia,  who 
was  taken  captive  by  Julius  Caesar,  and  educated  at  Rome.  We  may, 
also,  here  mention  Nicolaus  of  Damascus,  and  Memnon  of  Heraclea, 
both  of  whom  lived  in  the  time  of  Augustus,  and  of  whose  writings  some 
considerable  fragments  still  remain. 

Of  the  historians  who  immediately  followed  the  commencement  of  the 
Christian  era,  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  important  was  the  Jewish 
writer,  Flavins  Josephus.  His  history  of  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem, 
of  which  he  was  an  eye-witness,  is  full  of  tragic  interest,  and  is,  on  many 
other  accounts,  a  work  of  great  value.  It  was  originally  written  in  the 


4G2  HISTORY.  [LECT.  XVIII. 

Hebrew  language,  and  was  afterwards  translated  by  himself  into  the 
Greek.  Plutarch  also,  who  flourished  in  the  first  Christian  century, 
must  be  included  among  the  Greek  historical  writers,  not  only  because 
his  Lives  partake  so  much  of  an  historical  character,  but  because  he 
wrote  several  other  works  upon  historical  topics.  After  Plutarch,  the 
most  important  historical  writers  were  Arrian,  Appian,  Dion  Cassius, 
and  Herodian.  JElian,  also,  usually  occupies  a  place  among  the  his- 
torians, but  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  holds  a  very,  low  rank.  The 
historical  work  of  Polyanus  entitles  him,  also,  to  a  passing  notice  in 
this  place,  and  in  this  connection. 

To  some  other  historical  writers  of  the  period  of  which  we  are  now 
speaking,  it  may  be  proper  simply  to  allude.  Herennius  Pliilo  of  Biblus, 
in  the  second  century,  is  said  to  have  written  several  historical  works, 
and  also  to  have  translated  into  the  Greek  language  from  the  Phoanician, 
the  Antiquities  of  Sanconiathon.  Eupraxides  lived  in  the  time  of  the 
emperor  Nero,  and  was  the  author  of  the  historical  work  usually  ascribed 
to  Dictys  Cretensis.  Phlegon,  of  Tralles  in  Lydia,  was  the  author 
of  numerous  historical  works,  among  which  was  a  sort  of  universal 
chronology ;  most  of  which  is  now,  however,  unfortunately  lost.  In  a 
fragment  of  this  curious  performance  is  mentioned  an  eclipse  of  the  sun 
in  the  eighteenth  year  of  the  reign  of  the  emperor  Tiberius,  which  has 
been  supposed,  by  some  writers,  to  refer  to  the  darkness  that  attended 
the  crucifixion  of  Christ. 

In  the  long  period  that  extended  from  the  age  of  Constantine,  before 
whose  era  all  the  historians  hitherto  mentioned  flourished,  to  the  taking 
of  the  city  of  Constantinople  by  the  Turks,  the  first  historian  that  we 
meet  with  is  Eusebius,  the  celebrated  bishop  of  Csesarea,  and  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  men  of  the  age.  The  only  work  of  this  author  which 
strictly  belongs  to  classical  literature,  is  his  Chronicle,  or  Universal  His 
tory — a  work  of  rare,  and  even  extraordinary  merit.  After  Eusebius  we 
have  a  long  list  of  historical  writers ;  but  of  this  vast  number  Zosimus 
and  Procopius  are  the  only  two  names  of  much  importance,  until  we 
come  down  to  the  mass  of  writers  still  less  celebrated,  and  usually  grouped 
together  under  the  name  of  the  Byzantine  historians.  This  series  of 
authors,  beginning  with  the  seventh  century,  extends  to  the  final  over- 
throw of  Constantinople.  '  They  have,'  in  the  language  of  Gibbon,  'little 
merit,  except  that  they  are  the  only  sources  whence  we  can  derive  the 
history  of  the  middle  ages.  A  few  among  them  exhibit  a  degree  of 
purity  and  elegance  in  style ;  but  most  of  their  works  are  destitute  of 
taste  and  of  method,  and  degraded  by  superstition  and  abject  flattery.' 

These  Byzantine  writers  have  usually  been  divided  into  four  classes. 
The  first  class  includes  Zonaras,  Nicetas  Acominatus,  JVicephorus  Gre- 
goras,  and  Laonicus  Chalcondylas,  and  form  what,  properly  speaking,  is 
termed  the  Body  of  Byzantine  historians.  Taken  together,  they  give  a 
complete  history  of  the  period  from  Constantine  to  the  capture  of  Con- 


550  A.C.]  .       PHERECYDES.  463 

stantinople  by  the  Turks.  The  second  class  includes  the  writers  that 
have  been  termed  Chroniclers,  and  who  attempted  to  give  general  his- 
tories, or  annals  extending  from  the  beginning  of  the  world  to  their  own 
times.  Scholl  mentions  fifteen  or  sixteen  names  belonging  to  this-  class. 
The  third  class  consists  of  such  writers  as  confined  themselves  to  the 
history  of  a  short  period,  or  particular  event,  or  to  certain  individuals  : 
these  last  should  rather  be  called  biographers  than  historians.  More 
than  twenty  names  are  given  in  this  class,  of  whom  Agathias  was  one  of 
the  most  eminent.  The  fourth  class  is  composed  of  authors  who  occupied 
themselves  rather  with  antiquities  and  statistics  than  with  history.  Of 
the  ten  or  twelve  included  in  this  number,  Constantine  PorphyrogenitKS 
was  the  most  eminent.  Lydus,  whose  treatise  on  the  Roman  magistrates, 
discovered  in  1784,  is  considered  by  Niebuhr  as  a  very  valuable  source 
of  information,  was  also  of  this  class. 

Biography,  we  may  remark,  as  a  department  of  composition,  was 
almost  entirely  overlooked  by  the  early  Greeks ;  but  between  the  age  of 
Augustus  and  that  of  Constantine,  it  received  more  attention.  The 
Lives  of  Plutarch,  already  alluded  to,  are  the  most  valuable  productions 
of  this  kirjd  in  Grecian  literature.  In  the  third  century  we  find  two 
biographical  works,  the  Lives  of  Diogenes  Laertius,  and  the  Lives  of 
Philostrat/us,  both  of  which  are  important  sources  of  information  respect- 
ing the  ancient  philosophers.  The  Lives  of  Moses  and  the  Patriarchs., 
by  Pldlo,  the  Jew,  of  Alexandria  ;  and  likewise  the  biographical  work  of 
Porphyry,  may  also  be  mentioned  in  this  connection.  After  the  age  of 
Constantine,  we  have  the  Lives  of  Eunapius,  and  the  works  of  a  large 
number  of  the  Byzantine  writers,  one  class  of  them  being,  as  we  have 
just  remarked,  emphatically  denominated  biographers. 

From  these  general  remarks  on  the  origin  and  progress  of  Grecian  his- 
torical composition,  we  pass  to  a  more  particular  notice  of  some  of  the 
most  eminent  of  the  Grecian  historians. 

Pherecydes  ^as  a  native  of  the  little  island  of  Leros ;  but  having 
early  removed  to  Athens,  and  thenceforth  resided  in  that  city,  he  is  fre- 
quently .called  an  Athenian.  The  time  of  his  birth  is  uncertain,  but  it  is 
evident  that  he  lived  during  the  Persian  war. 

The  writings  of  Pherecydes  comprehend  a  great  portion  of  the  myth- 
ical traditions  ;  and,  of  the  ancient  times  of  Athens,  he  gave,  in  a  separate 
work,  a  copious  account.  He  was  extensively  consulted  by  the  later 
mythographers,  and  his  extensive  fragments  must  still  serve  as  the  basis 
of  many  mythological  inquiries.  .  By  following  a  genealogical  .line,  he 
was  led  from  Philaeus,  the  son  of  Ajax,  down  to  Miltiades,  the  founder 
of  the  sovereignty  in  the  Chersonesus ;  and  this  afforded  him  an  oppor- 
tunity of  describing  the  campaign  of  Darius  against  the  Scythians,  con- 
cerning which  a  very  valuable  fragment  of  his  history  still  remains. 


464  HECATAEUS.  [LKOT.  XV1TI. 

-  Cadmus,  probably  the  earliest  of  the  Greek  historians  or  logographers, 
was  a  native  of  Miletus,  in  Asia  Minor,  and  flourished  about  540  A.C. ; 
but  of  the  history  of  his  life  nothing  farther  is,  with  any  degree  of  cer- 
tainty, known. 

Cadmus  was  the  author  of  a  history  of  the  foundation  of  Miletus ; 
and  extending  the  work  through  four  books,  he  embraced  in  it  the  whole 
history  of  Ionia.  The  subject  of  this  work  lay  back  in  the  dim  period 
of  uncertain  knowledge,  from  which  only  a  few  oral  traditions  of  an  his- 
torical kind,  but  intimately  connected  with  mythical  notions,  had  been 
preserved.  The  genuine  work  of  Cadmus  appears  to  have  been  lost  at  a 
very  early  period  ;  for  Dionysius,  of  Halicarnassus,  expressly  informs  us, 
that  the  work  known  in  his  time,  and  passing  under  the  name  of  Cadmus, 
was  univeteally  regarded,  among  the  well-informed,  as  a  forgery.  We 
have  no  means,  therefore,  of  judging  of  this  author's  merits  as  a 
writer. 

Hecataeus  was  also  a  native  of  Miletus,  and  was  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  the  early  Greek  historians  and  geographers.  He  was  the 
son  of  Hegesander,  and  belonged  to  a  very  ancient  and  illustrious  family. 
The  time  of  his  birth  is  unknown,  though  Larcher  and  others  think  that 
he  must  have  been  born  about  550  A.C.,  as  he  took  a  very  active  part  in 
the  Ionian  Revolt,  which  occurred  in  503  A.C.  As  Hecataeus,  according 
to  Suidas,  survived  the  Persian  war  a  few  years,  he  probably  died  about 
476  A.C.,  shortly  after  the  battles  of  Plataea  and  Mycale. 

At  the  time  of  the  Ionian  revolt,  Hecataeus  was  a  man  of  very  great 
consideration ;  and  in  the  council  of  Aristagoras,  in  reference  to  that  sub- 
ject, he  boldly  dissuaded  the  undertaking,  assigning  as  his  reason  for  so 
doing  that  the  various  nations,  subject  to  the  will  of  Darius,  and  his 
numerous  warlike  forces,  rendered  his  power  irresistible.  When,  how- 
ever, he  found  they  were  determined  to  revolt,  he  advised  them  to  en- 
deavor, above  all  things,  to  maintain  the  supremacy  at  sea  by  a  large 
fleet ;  and  for  the  purpose  of  providing  such  fleet,  to  take  the  treasures 
from  the  temple  of  Branchidse.  This  advice  certainly  Hiows  that  He- 
cataeus was  a  prudent  and  sagacious  man,  and  well  understood  the  true 
situation  of  all  things  relating  to  the  approaching  contest. 

Instead  of  devoting  himself,  as  his  contemporary  historians  did,  to  the 
primitive  history  of  his  own  country,  Hecataeus  directed  his  attention  to 
passing  events,  and  to  the  nature  of  the  countries  and  kingdoms  with 
which  Greece  began  to  entertain  intimate  relations.  He  had,  like  Herod- 
otus, travelled  much,  and  had  devoted  particular  attention  to  the  affairs 
of  Egypt.  It  is  true  that  Herodotus  often  corrects  his  statements  ;  but 
by  so  doing  he  recognizes  Hecataeus  as  the  most  important  of  his  prede- 
cessors. Hecataeus  perpetuated  the  results  of  his  geographical  and  eth- 
nographical researches  in  a  work  entitled  Travels  round  the  Earth,  by 
which  a  description  of  the  coasts  of  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  and  of 


504  A.C.]  CHARON.  465 

southern  Asia,  as  far  as  India,  was  understood.  The  author  began  with 
Greece,  proceeding  in  a  book,  entitled  Europe  to  the  west,  and  in  an- 
other, entitled  Asia  to  the  east.  Hecataeus  also  improved  and  com- 
pleted the  map  of  the  earth,  sketched  by  Anaximander ;  and  in  all  prob- 
ability this  was  the  same  map  which  Aristagoras,  of  Miletus,  brought 
to  Sparta  before  the  Ionian  revolt,  and  upon  which  he  pointed  out  to 
the  king  of  Sparta  the  countries,  the  rivers,  and  principal  cities  of  the 
East. 

Besides  this  important  work,  another  is  ascribed  to  Hecataeus,  and 
which  is  sometimes  called  Histories,  and  sometimes  Genealogies ;  and  of 
which  four  books  are  cited.  Into  this  work  Hecataeus  admitted  many 
of  the  genealogical  legends  of  the  Greeks ;  and,  notwithstanding  his 
contempt  for  old  fables,  he  laid  great  stress  upon  genealogies  ascending  to 
the  mythological  period  :  thus  he  made  a  pedigree  for  himself,  in  which 
his  sixteenth  ancestor  was  a  god.  Genealogies  afforded  opportunities  for 
introducing  accounts  of  different  periods ;  and  Hecataeus  certainly  nar- 
rated many  historical  events  in  this  work,  although  he  did  not  write  a 
connected  history  of  the  period  comprised  in  it. 

Hecataeus  wrote  in  the  pure  Ionic  dialect,  in  a  style  of  great  sim- 
plicity ;  and  he  is  sometimes  extremely  vivid  and  animated  in  his  de- 
scriptions. 

Acusilaus,  a  contemporary  of  Hecataeus,  was  the  son  of  Scabras,  and 
a  native  of  Argos.  He  is  said  by  Suidas  to  have  written  his  Genealo- 
gies from  bronze  tablets,  which  his  father  dug  up  in  his  own  house. 

Although  a  Dorian  by  descent,  Acusilaus  wrote  in  the  Ionic  dialect, 
because  the  lonians  were  the  founders  of  the  historical  style — a  practice 
universally  followed  in  Greek  literature.  He  confined  his  attention  en- 
tirely to  the  mythical  period  ;  and  his  object  appears  to  have  been  to  collect 
into  a  short  and  connected  narrative,  all  the  events,  from  the  formation  of 
Chaos  to  the  end  of  the  Trojan  war.  It  was  said  of  him  that  he  trans- 
lated Hesiod  into  prose — an  expression  which  ser.ves  to  characterize  his 
work.  He  appears,  however,  to  have  related  many  legends  differently 
from  Hesiod,  and  to  have  adopted  the  tone  of  the  Orphic  theologies  of 
his  own  time.  He  wrote  nothing  which  can  properly  be  called  history, 
though  three  books  of  his  logography  are  quoted  by  the  ancients. 

Charon  was  a  native  of  Lampsacus,  and  was  born  about  504  A.C. 
He  continued  the  researches  of  Hecataeus  into  eastern  ethnography, 
though  little  else  is  known  of  his  history.  He  wrote  separate  works,  as 
was  the  usual  cusfom  of  these  early  historians,  upon  Persia,  Libya,  and 
Ethiopia.  He  also  subjoined  the  history  of  his  own  time,  and  he  pre- 
ceded Herodotus  in  narrating  the  events  of  the  Persian  war,  though 
Herodotus  nowhere  mentions  his  name,  or  makes  any  allusion  to  him. 
From  the '  fragments  of  his  writings  that  remain,  it  is  manifest  that  his 

30 


466  HELLANICUS.  [LECT.  XVIII. 

relation  to  Herodotus  was  that  of  a  dry  chronicler  to  an  historian,  under 
whose  hands  everything  acquires  life  and  character.  Charon  also  wrote  a 
chronicle  of  his  own  country,  as  several  other  of  the  early  historians  did ; 
and  from  this  circumstance  they  were  called  chorographers.  Probably 
most  of  the  ancient  historians,  whose  names  are  enumerated  by  Diony- 
sius  of  Halicarnassus,  belonged  to  this  class. 

Xanthus  was  a  native  of  Lydia,  and  was  born  at  Sardis  about  500 
A.C.  His  father,  Candaules,  early  sent  him  into  Ionian  Greece,  where 
he  remained  until  he  had  completed  his  education. 

The  work  of  Xanthus  upon  Lydia,  written  in  the  Ionian  dialect,  bears, 
in  the  few  fragments  which  remain,  the  stamp  of  great  excellence. 
Some  valuable  remarks  upon  the  nature  of  the  earth's  surface  in  Asia 
Minor,  which  pointed  partly  to  volcanic  agency,  and  partly  to  the  exten- 
sion of  the  sea ;  and  precise  accounts  of  the  distinctions  between  the 
Lydian  races  are  cited  from  it  by  Strabo  and  Dionysius.  The  passages 
quoted  by  these  writers  bear  unquestionable  marks  of  genuineness ;  in 
later  times,  however,  some  spurious  works  were  attributed  to  Xanthus. 
Of  these  spurious  works,  a  work  upon  magic,  and  healing,  at  the  same 
time,  of  the  religion  and  worship  of  Zoroaster,  was  the  principal. 

Hellanicus,  the  most  eminent  of  the  Greek  logographers,  was  the  son 
of  Andromenes,  and  was  born  at  Mytilene,  in  the  island  of  Lesbos,  about 
496  A.C.  At  the  commencement  of  the  Peloponnesian  war  he  was  sixty- 
five  years  old,  and  his  death,  according  to  Lucian,  occurred  in  411  A.C., 
when  he  had  reached  nearly  the  age  of  eighty-six. 

The  character  of  Hellanicus,  as  a  mythographer  and  historian,  is  es- 
sentially different  from  that  of  the  early  chroniclers  whom  we  have  just 
noticed.  He  has  far  more  the  character  of  a  learned  compiler,  whose  ob- 
ject is,  not  merely  to  note  down  events,  but  to  arrange  his  materials  in 
their  proper  order,  and  to  correct  the  errors  of  others.  Besides  a  num- 
ber of  writings  upon  particular  legends  and  local  fables,  he  composed  a 
work  entitled,  The  Priestesses  of  Hera  of  Argos  ;  in  which  the  women 
who  had  filled  this  priesthood  were  enumerated,  though  on  doubtful 
authority,  up  to  a  very  remote  period ;  and  various  striking  events  of  the 
heroic  age  were  arranged  in  chronological  order,  according  to  this  series. 
Hellanicus  could,  however,  hardly  have  been  the  first  who  ventured  to 
make  a  list  of  this  kind,  and  to  dress  it  up  with  chronological  dates. 
Before  his  time  the  priests  and  temple-attendants  at  Argos  had,  perhaps, 
employed  their  idle  hours  in  compiling  a  series  of  the  priestesses  of  Hera, 
and  in  explaining  it  by  monuments  supposed  to  be  of  great  antiquity. 
The  Carneoniccz  of  Hellanicus  was  a  much  more  important  work  than 
the  Priestesses,  as  it  contained  a  list  of  the  victors  in  the  musical  and 
poetical  contests  of  the  Carnea  at  Sparta  from  676  A.C.,  down  to  the 


484  A. C.]  HERODOTUS.  46Y 

author's  own  age.  This  work  may,  therefore,  be  regarded  as  one  of  the 
first  attempts  at  literary  history. 

The  writings  of  Hellanicus  contain  a  vast  mass  of  matter ;  since,  be- 
sides the  works  already  mentioned,  he  wrote  accounts  of  Phoenicia,  Persia, 
and  Egypt,  and  also  a  description  of  a  journey  to  the  renowned  oracle 
of  Jupiter  Ammon  in  the  desert  of  Libya ;  though  we  should,  perhaps, 
remark,  that  the  genuineness  of  this  last  work  has  been  doubted.  He 
also  descended  to  the  history  of  his  own  time,  and  described  some  of  the 
events  between  the  Persian  and  Peloponnesian  wars ;  but  very  briefly, 
and,  as  Thucydides  asserts,  without  chronological  accuracy. 

All  the  productions  of  Hellanicus  are  now  lost,  with  the  exception  of  a 
considerable  number  of  fragments.  Although  he  belongs,  strictly  speak- 
ing, to  the  logographers,  still  he  holds  a  much  higher  -rank  among  the 
early  Greek  historians  than  any  other  of  those  who  are  designated  by  the 
name  of  logographers.  He  properly  forms  the  transition  point  from  that 
class  of  writers  to  the  real  historians ;  for,  he  not  only  treated  of  the 
mythical  ages,  but,  in  several  instances,  he  carried  history  down  to  his 
own  times.  But,  as  far  as  the  form  of  history  is  concerned,  he  had  not 
emancipated  himself  from  the  custom  and  practice  of  other  logographers; 
for,  like  them,  he  treated  history  from  local  points  of  view,  and  divided 
it  into  such  portions  as  might  be  related  in  the  form  of  genealogies. 
Hence  he  wrote  local  histories  and  traditions ;  and  this  circumstance,  to- 
gether with  the  many  differences  in  his  statements  from  those  of  Herodo- 
tus, renders  it  highly  probable  that,  though  these  two  writers  were  con- 
temporaries, yet  they  could  have  had  no  intercourse  respecting  each 
other's  historical  plans. 

The  six  historians  whom  we  have  just  noticed  were  the  worthy  precur- 
sors of  the  three  great  historical  writers,  Herodotus,  Thucydides,  and 
Xenophon,  who  immediately  succeeded  them ;  and  yet  they  were  as  far 
below  them  in  point  of  merit,  as  the  dramatic  poets  who  originated  the 
drama,  were  below  ^Eschylus,  Sophocles,  and  Euripides. 

Herodotus,  the  father  of  what  may  be  properly  called  history,  was  the 
son  of  Lyxes,  and  was  born  at  Halicarnassus,  in  Caria,  484  A.C.  His 
family  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  the  Doric  colony  of  Caria, 
and  hence  they  became  involved  in  the  civil  commotions  of  the  country. 
Caria  was  at  that  time  governed  by  Artemisia,  the  princess  who  fought 
so  bravely  for  the  Persians  in  the  battle  of  Salamis,  that  Xerxes,  while 
witnessing  her  exploits,  declared  that  she  was  the  only  man  among  many 
women.  Lygdamis,  the  grandson,  and  successor  of  Artemisia  in  the 
government  of  Caria,  was  hostile  to  the  family  of  Herodotus ;  and  he, 
accordingly,  put  Panyasis,  the  epic  poet,  and  probably  the  maternal  uncle 
of  Herodotus,  to  death,  and  compelled  Herodotus  himself  to  leave  the 
country.  This  event  occurred  in  452  A.C.,  when  the  future  historian  was 
in  the  thirty- third  year  of  his  age. 


468  HERODOTUS.  [LECT.  XVIII. 

Thus  forced  to  leave  his  native  country,  Herodotus  took  refuge  in  the 
island  of  Samos,  probably  with  some  relative  or  kinsman  who  resided 
there ;  and  to  this  Ionian  island  he  eventually  became  so  attached,  that 
thenceforth  it  was  regarded  by  him  as  a  second  home.  In  many  pas- 
sages of  his  history  he  exhibits  the  most  minute  acquaintance  with  the 
island  and  its  inhabitants,  and  seems  to  take  great  pleasure  in  inci- 
dentally mentioning  the  part  it  played  in  events  of  importance.  In 
Samos,  Herodotus  acquired  his  familiarity  with  the  Ionic  dialect,  and 
imbibed  the  Ionian  spirit  which  pervades  his  history. 

After  having  resided  some  time  in  Samos,  Herodotus  returned  to  Caria 
for  the  purpose  of  undertaking  to  deliver  his  native  country  from  the  yoke 
of  Lygdamis.  In  this  attempt  he  was  entirely  successful ;  but  the  con- 
test between  the  nobles  and  commons  which  immediately  followed,  placed 
such  obstacles  in  the  way  of  his  plans  and  arrangements  for  securing  the 
permanent  happiness  of  Caria,  and  particularly  of  its  capital  city,  Hali- 
carnassus,  that  Herodotus  now  left  his  native  country  forever. 

Having  returned  to  Samos,  Herodotus,  feeling,  perhaps,  unsettled  in 
regard  to  his  future  course  of  life,  finally  resolved  to  travel  abroad  for 
the  purpose  of  familiarizing  himself  with  the  history  of  other  countries 
besides  his  own.  He  did  not,  however,  visit  those  countries  from  the 
accidents  of  commercial  business,  or  political  missions,  but  from  the  pure 
spirit  of  inquiry ;  and  for  that  early  age  his  travels  were  certainly  very 
extensive  and  important.  He  visited  Egypt,  and  penetrated  as  far  up 
into  the  country  as  to  Elephantine  ;  Libya,  as  far,  at  least,  as  the  vicinity 
of  Gyrene ;  Phoenicia,  Babylon,  and  probably  Persia — the  Greek  states 
on  the  Cimmerian  Bosphorus;  the  contiguous  country  of  the  Scythians, 
as  well  as  Colchis :  besides  which  he  had  resided  in  several  States  of 
Greece,  and  had  visited  many  temples,  even  the  remote  one  of  Dodona. 
The  circumstance  of  his  being  a  Carian,  and  consequently  a  subject  of 
the  king  of  Persia,  must  have  greatly  assisted  him  in  these  travels— an 
Athenian,  or  a  'Greek  of  any  of  the  States  which  were  in  open  revolt 
against  Persia,  would  be  treated  as  an  enemy,  and  sold  into  slavery. 
From  this  consideration  it  has  been  inferred  that  the  travels  of  Herod- 
otus, at  least  those  to  Egypt  and  Asia,  were  performed  in  his  youth, 
and  while  he  still  resided  at  Halicarnassus. 

Herodotus  did  not,  of  course,  perform  these  long  journeys,  and  make 
these  extensive  inquiries,  as  a  matter  of  mefe  idle  curiosity,  but  with  the 
view  of  imparting  their  result  to  his  countrymen.  It  is  rather  doubtful, 
however,  whether  he  had,  at  that  time,  formed  the  plan  of  connecting 
his  information  concerning  Asia  and  Greece  with  the  history  of  the  Per- 
sian war,  and  of  uniting  the  whole  into  one  great  work.  When  we  con- 
sider that  an  intricate  and  extensive  plan  of  this  sort  had  hitherto  been 
unknown  in  the  historical  writings  of  the  Greeks,  it  can  hardly  be 
doubted  that  the?  idea  occurred  to  him  at  an  advanced  stage  of  his  in- 
quiries, and  that  in  his  earlier  years  he  had  not  raised  his  mind  above 


484  A.C.]  HERODOTUS.  4G9 

the  conception  of  such  works  as  those  of  Charon,  Hellanicus,  and  others 
of  his  predecessors  and  contemporaries.  Even  at  a  later  period  of  his 
life,  when  he  was  engaged  in  composing  his  great  work,  he  is  said  to 
have  contemplated  writing  a  separate  book  upon  Assyria ;  and  some  sup- 
pose that  this  work  was  not  only  composed,  but  was  actually  in  existence 
down  as  late  as  the  time  of  Aristotle.  In  fact,  Herodotus  might  have 
made  separate  books  out  of  the  accounts  of  Egypt,  Persia,  Scythia,  given 
in  his  history ;  and,  had  he  been  contented  to  tread  in  the  footsteps  of 
the  logographers  who  preceded  him,  he  would  doubtless  have  done  so. 

Herodotus,  having  completed  his  travels  abroad,  returned  into  his 
native  country,  and  finally  passed  over  into  Lower  Italy,  settling  quietly 
down  at  Thurium,  where,  it  is  generally  supposed  he,  in  the  leisure  and 
quiet  of  his  latter  years,  composed  his  great  work.  Hence  he  is,  in  re- 
ference to  the  composition  of  his  history,  frequently  called  by  the  ancients 
a  Thurian.  From  this  statement  it  is  not  to  be  inferred  that  we  sup- 
pose Herodotus  to  have  been  amongst  fche  first  settlers  of  Thurium ;  for, 
doubtless,  the  numbers  of  the  original  colonists  received  subsequently 
many  additions.  It  is  entirely  certain  that  Herodotus  did  not  go  to 
Thurium  till  after  the  beginning  of  the  Peloponnesian  war;  for,  at  the 
beginning  of  that  war  he  must  have  been  at  Athens.  As  evidence  of 
this,  we  have  only  to  remark  that  he  describes  a  sacred  offering,  which 
was  on  the  Acropolis  of  Athens,  by  its  position  with  'regard  to  the 
Propylaea ;  but  the  Propylsea  was  not  finished  till  the  year  the  Pe- 
loponnesian war  began.  Herodotus,  likewise,  evidently  appears  to  adopt 
those  views  of  the  relations  between  the  Greek  States,  which  were 
diffused  in  Athens  by  the  statesmen  of  the  party  of  Pericles ;  and  he 
gives  it  as  his  opinion  that  Athens  did  not  deserve,  after  her  great  ex- 
ploits in  the  Persian  war,  to  be  so  envied  and  blamed  by  the  rest  of  the 
Greeks,  which  we  all  know  was  eminently  the  case  just  at  the  time  of  the 
beginning  of  the  Peloponnesian  war.  The  time  of  Herodotus'  death  is 
uncertain ;  but  it  is  generally  supposed  that  he  lived  to  an  advanced  age. 

Herodotus  having,  as  we  have  remarked,  completed  his  history  at 
Thurium,  it  is  stated  that  he  returned  to  Greece,  and  recited  the  work  at 
different  public  Grecian  festivals.  This  statement  is  in  itself  perfectly 
credible,  as  the  Greeks  of  this  period,  when  they  had  finished  a  com- 
position with  care,  and  had  given  it  an  attractive  form,  depended  more 
upon  oral  delivery  than  upon  solitary  reading.  Thucydides,  blaming  the 
historians  who  preceded  him,  describes  them  as  courting  the  transient 
applause  of  an  audience,  instead  of  depending  upon  the  intrinsic  merit  of 
their  work.  The  ancient  chronologists  have  also  preserved  the  exact 
date  of  a  recitation,  which  took  place  at  the  great  Panathenaea  at  Athens, 
in  446  A.C.,  and  when  Herodotus  was  thirty-eight  years  of  age.  The 
collections  of  Athenian  decrees,  also,  contained  a  decree  proposed  by 
Anytus,  from  which  it  appeared  that  Herodotus  received  a  reward  of  ten 
talents  from  the  public  treasury. 


470  HERODOTUS.  [LECT.  XVIII. 

There  is  less  authority,  however,  for  the  story  about  Herodotus  reciting 
his  history  at  the  Olympic  games,  and  least  authority  of  all  for  the  well- 
known  anecdote,  that  Thucydides,  a  boy  of  sixteen,  was  present,  and  that 
he  shed  tears  copiously,  drawn  forth  by  his  own  intense  desire  for  know- 
ledge, and  his  deep  interest  in  the  narrative.  To  say  nothing  of  the  many 
intrinsic  improbabilities  of  this  story — Thucydides  being  Herodotus'  junior 
by  only  thirteen  years — so  many  anecdotes  were  invented  by  the  ancients, 
in  order  to  bring  eminent  men  of  the  same  pursuits  into  connection  with 
each  other,  that  it  is  impossible  to  give  any  faith  to  it,  without  the  testi- 
mony of  more  trustworthy  witnesses  than  any  we  have. 

We  are  not  to  suppose,  however,  that  the  public  readings  of  Herodotus, 
such  as  those  at  the  Panathenseic  festival,  embraced  his  whole  work  : 
they  were  rather  confined  to  detached  portions  of  his  subject,  which  he 
afterwards  introduced  into  his  history ;  such  as  the  history  and  descrip- 
tion of  Egypt,  or  the  accounts  concerning.  Persia.  Indeed,  his  great 
work  could  not  have  been  completed  till  the  commencement  of  the 
Peloponnesian  war ;  for  the  four  last  books  of  it  are  so  full  of  references 
and  allusions  to  events  which  occurred  during  the  earlier  parts  of  that 
war,  that  he  appears  to  have  been  diligently  occupied  with  the  composi- 
tion or  final  revision  of  it  at  that  time.  The  probability,  therefore,  is, 
that  Herodotus  did  not  live  to  the  second  period  of  the  Peloponnesian 
war,  and  that  he  was  occupied  with  his  work  till  his  death  ;  for  the  closing 
parts  seem  to  have  been  left  by  him  in  an  unfinished  state. 

The  plan  of  the  work  of  Herodotus  is  founded  upon  the  idea  of  an 
ancient  enmity  between  the  Greeks  and  the  nations  of  Asia.  The  learned 
of  the  East  considered  the  insults  offered  to  lo,  Medea,  and  Helen,  and 
the  wars  which  grew  out  of  those  events,  as  single  acts  of  this  great  con- 
flict ;  and  their  main  object  was  to  determine  which  of  the  two  parties 
had  first  resorted  to  violence.  Herodotus,  however,  soon  drops  these 
legendary  stories,  and  turns  his  attention  to  Croesus,  king  of  Lydia — a 
prince  whom  he  knew  to  have  been  the  aggressor  in  his  war  against  the 
Greeks.  He  then  proceeds  to  give  a  detailed  account  of  the  enterprises 
of  Croesus,  and  the  other  events  of  his  life,  into  all  of  which  are  inter- 
woven as  episodes,  not  only  the  early  history  of  the  Lydian  kings,  and  of 
their  conflicts  with  the  Greeks,  but  also  important  passages  in  the  history 
of  Sparta  and  Athens. 

In  this  manner  Herodotus,  in  describing  the  first  subjugation  of  the 
Greeks  by  an  Asiatic  power,  at  the  same  time  points  out  the  origin  and 
progress  of  these  States,  by  which  the  Greeks  were  to  be  liberated. 
Meanwhile  the  attack  upon  Sardis,  by  Cyrus,  brings  the  Persian  power 
on  the  stage  in  the  place  of  the  Lydians,  and  the  narrative  then  proceeds 
to  explain  the  rise  of  the  Persian  from  the  Median  kingdom,  and  to 
describe  its  increase  by  the  subjugation  of  the  nations  of  Asia  Minor  and 
the  Babylonians.  Whenever  the  Persians*  come  in  contact  with  other 
nations,  an  account,  more  or  less  detailed,  of  their  history  and  peculiar 


484  A.C.]  HERODOTUS.  471 

usages  were  given.  '  Herodotus  evidently  strives  to  enlarge  his  plan  by 
episodes :  it  is  manifestly  bis  object  to  combine  with  the  history  of  the 
conflict  between  the  East  and  the  West,  a  vivid  picture  of  the  contending 
nations.  Thus,  to  the  conquest  of  Egypt  by  Cambyses,  he  annexes  a 
description  of  the  country,  the  people,  and  their  history,  the  copiousness 
of  which  was  caused  by  his  fondness  for  Egypt,,  on  account  of  its  early 
civilization,  and  the  stability  of  its  peculiar  institutions  and  usages.  The 
history  of  Cainbyses,  of  the  false  Smerdis,  and  Darius,  is  continued  in 
the  same  detailed  manner  j  and  an  account  is  given  of  the  power  of 
Samos,  under  Polycrates,  and  of  his  tragical  end,  by  which  the  Persian 
power  began  to  extend  to  the  islands  between  Asia  and  Europe.  The 
Scythian  expedition,  the  Ionian  revolt,  the  expedition  against  Eretria 
and  Athens,  with  the  rapid  rise  and  power  o£  the  young  republic  of 
Athens,  are  all  described  in  the  same  vivid  and  rapid  manner ;  and 
although  the  work  seems  to  be  unfinished,  still  it  closes  with  a  senti- 
ment which  cannot  have  been  placed  casually  at  the  end — '  It  is  not 
always  the  richest  and  most  fertile  country  which  produces  the  most 
valiant  men.' 

By  pursuing  this  course  Herodotus  has  given  to  his  history  character- 
istic unity ;  for,  notwithstanding  the  extent  of  his  subject,  which  compre- 
hends nearly  all  the  nations  of  the  world  at  that  time  known,  the  narra- 
tive is  constantly  advancing.  His  work  has  also  an  epic  character  ;  not 
only  from  the  equable  and  uninterrupted  flow  of  the  narrative,  but  also 
from  certain  pervading  ideas,  which  gave  an  uniform  tone  to  the  whole. 
The  principal  of  these  is  the  idea  of  a  fixed  destiny,  of  a  wise  arrange- 
ment of  the  world,  which  has  prescribed  to  every  being  his  path ;  and 
which  allots  ruin  and  destruction,  not  only  to  crime  and  violence,  but  to 
excessive  power  and  riches,  and  the  over-weening  pride  which  is  their 
companion.  > 

As  Herodotus  thus  saw  the  working  of  a  divine  agency  in  all  human 
events,  and  considered  the  exhibition  of  it  as  the  main  object  of  his 
history,  his  aim  was  entirely  different  from  that  of  an  historian  who  re- 
gards the  events  of  life  merely  with  reference  to  man.  Herodotus  was, 
in  reality,  a  theologian  and  a  poet,  as  well  as  an  historian.  The  individ- 
ual parts  of  his  work  are  treated  entirely  in  this  spirit.  His  aim  was  not 
to  give  the  results  of  common  experience  in  human  life ;  for  his  mind 
turned  mainly  to  the  extraordinary  and  the  marvellous.  In  this  respect 
his  work  bears  an  uniform  color.  The  great  events  which  he  relates — 
the  gigantic  enterprises  of  princes,  the  unexpected  turns  of  fortune  and 
other  marvellous  occurrences — harmonize  with  the  accounts  of  the  aston- 
ishing buildings  and  other  works  of  the  East,  of  the  multifarious  and 
often  singular  manners  of  the  different  nations,  the  surprising  phenomena 
of  nature,  and  the  rare  productions  and  animals  of  the  remote  regions  of 
the  world.  In  thus  presenting  a  picture  of  strange  and  astonishing 
things  to  his  mobile  and  curious  countrymen,  Herodotus  was  guided  by 


472  HERODOTUS.  [LECT.  XVIII. 

the  strictest  truth  and  integrity  whenever  the  things  related  fell  within  the 
range  of  his  own  observation ;  but  as,  in  many  cases,  he  was  under  the 
necessity  of  depending  upon  information  received  from  others,  we  may 
adopt  his  own  remark  with  regard  to  such  statements  :  c  I  must  say  what 

has  been  told  to  me ;  but  I  need  not,  therefore,  believe  all ;  and  this  re- 

& 

mark  applies  to  my  whole  work.' 

Herodotus  must  have  completely  familiarized  himself  with  the  manners 
and  modes  of  .thought  of  the  Oriental  nations.  The  character  of  his 
mind,  and  his  style  of  composition,  also  resemble  the  Oriental  type  more 
than  those  of  any  other  (3-reek  author  ;  and,  accordingly,  his  thoughts  and 
expressions  often  remind  us  of  the  writings  of  the  Old  Testament.  It 
cannot,  indeed,  be  denied  that  he  has  sometimes  attributed  to  the  eastern 
princes  ideas  which  werfr  essentially  Greek ;  such  as  making  the  seven 
grandees  of  the  Persians  deliberate  upon  the  respective  advantages  of 
monarchy,  aristocracy,  and  democracy.  But,  on  the  whole,  Herodotus, 
seizes  the  character  of  an  Oriental  monarch,  like  Xerxes,  with  striking 
truth ;  and  transports  us  into  the  very  midst  of  the  satellites  of  a  Per- 
sian despot. 

After  all,  however,  no  dissertation  upon  historical  researches  or  the 
style  of  Herodotus,  can  convey  any  idea  of  the  impression  made  by  read- 
ing his  work.  To  those  who  have  read  it,  all  description  would  be  su- 
perfluous. It  is  like  hearing  a  person  speak  who  has  seen  and  lived 
through  an  infinite  variety  of  the  most  remarkable  events  5  and  whose 
greatest  delight  consists  in  recalling  the  images  of  the  past,  and  perpetu- 
ating the  remembrance  of  them.  He  had  eager  and  unwearied  listeners, 
who  were  not  impatient  to  arrive  at  the  end  of  his  narration ;  and  he 
could  therefore  complete  every  separate  portion  of  the  history,  as  if  it 
were  an  independent  narrative.  He  always  knew  that  he  had  in  store 
other  more  attractive  and  striking  events;  yet,  as  he  dwelt  with  equal 
pleasure  on  everything  that  he  had  either  seen  or  heard,  he  never  hurried 
his  course.  In  this  manner,  the  stream  of  his  Ionic  language  flows  on 
with  a  charming  facility. 

The  character  of  his  style,  as  is  natural  in  mere  narration,  is  diffuse 
and  easy,  with  many  phrases  for  the  purpose  of  introducing,  recapitulat- 
ing, or  repeating  a  subject.  These  phrases  are  characteristical  of  oral 
discourse,  which  requires  such  contrivances,  in  order  to  prevent  the 
speaker,  or  the  hearer,  from  losing  the  thread  of  the  story.  In  this,  as  in 
other  respects,  the  language  of  Herodotus  closely  approximates  to  oral 
narration — of  all  varieties  of  prose,  it  is  the  farthest  removed  from  a 
written  style.  Long  sentences,  formed  of  several  clauses,  are,  for  the 
most  part,  confined  to  speeches,  where  reasons  and  objections  are  com- 
pared, conditions  stated,  and  their  consequences  developed.  But  it  must 
be  confessed  that  where  the  logical  connection  of  different  propositions 
is  to  be  expressed,  Herodotus  generally  shows  a  want  of  skill,  and  pro 
duces  no  distinct  conception  of  the  mutual  relations  of  the  several  mem- 


471  A.C.]  THUCYDIDES.  473 

bers  of  the  argument.  But  with  all  these  defects,  his  style  must  be  con- 
sidered as  the  perfection  of  the  unperiodic  style — the  only  style  employed 
by  his  predecessors,  the  logographers.  The  tone  of  the  Ionic  dialect — 
which  Herodotus,  although  by  birth  a  Dorian,  adopted  from  the  histo- 
rians who  preceded  him — conspires,  with  the  various  other  elements  that 
we  have  noticed,  to  render  his  work  as  harmonious  and  as  nearly  perfect 
in  its  kind,  as  any  human  production  can  be.  Herodotus  brings  the  his- 
tory of  Greece  down  to  the  battle  of  Mycale. 

Thucydides,  the  son  of  Olorus  was  a  native  of  Athens,  and  was  born 
471  A.C.  His  family  were  of  Thracian  origin,  and  connected  with  the 
Miltiades  who  first  established  a  principality  in  the  Thracian  Chersonese. 
Noble  in  descent  and  splendid  in  genius ;  and  surrounded  by  all  the  ad- 
vantages of  education  that  the  age  afforded — with  Aristagoras  for  his 
instructer  in  philosophy,  and  Antiphon,  in  oratory — a  most  brilliant 
career  invited  Thucydides  onward,  in  whatever  path,  he  chose  to  move. 
Whether  he  ever  entered  into  political  life  or  not,  is  uncertain ;  but  that 
he  was  well  qualified  to  shine  as  an  orator,  is  abundantly  evident  from 
the  various  orations  interspersed  throughout  his  history. 

In  4'23  A.C.,  the  eighth  year  of  the  Peloponnesiau  war,  Thucydides 
obtained  the  command  of  a  small  fleet,  and  was  ordered  to  the  coast  of 
Thrace.  While  he  lay  off  the  island  of  Thasos,  Brasidas,  the  Spartan 
general,  marched  against  the  city  of  Amphipolis,  on  the  river  Strymon. 
He  feared  even  the  small  fleet  commanded  by  Thucydides,  because  he 
knew  that  the  admiral  possessed  gold  mines  in  the  adjacent  district  of 
Thrace,  had  great  influence  with  the  principal  inhabitants  of  the  coun- 
try, and  would  therefore  find  no  difficulty  in  getting  together  a  body  of 
native  troops  to  reinforce  the  garrison  of  Amphipolis.  Accordingly, 
Brasidas  granted  the  Amphipolitans  a  better  capitulation  than  they  ex- 
pected, in  order  to  gain  possession  of  the  place  without  delay  5  and  Thucy- 
dides having  come  too  late  to  raise  the  siege,  was  obliged  to  content  him- 
self with  the  defense  of  Eion,  a  fortified  city  near  the  coast. 

The  Athenians,  who  were  always  in  the  habit  of  judging  their  generals 
and  statesmen  according  to  the  success  of  their  plans,  condemned  Thucy- 
dides for  neglect  of  duty ;  and  he  was  consequently  compelled  to  go  into 
exile,  in  which  state  he  continued  for  twenty  years,  living  the  greater  part 
of  the  time  in  the  vicinity  of  his  gold-mines  in  Thrace.  He  was  not  per- 
mitted to  return  to  his  native  country  eyen  after  the  peace  between  Sparta 
and  Athens,  but  was  finally  recalled  by  a  special  decree,  when  Thrasy- 
bulus  had  expelled  the  Thirty  Tyrants  and  restored  the  Athenian  de- 
mocracy. After  his  restoration,  Thucydides,  as  his  history  clearly  evinces, 
must  have  lived  some  years  at  Athens ;  and,  according  to  the  most  cur- 
Tent  account  of  antiquity,  eventually  perished  by  the  hand  of  an  assassin. 

From  this  account  of  the  career  of  Thucydides  it  appears  that  he  spent 
only  the  early  part  of  his  life,  up  to  his  forty- eighth  year,  in  intercourse 


474  THUCYDIDES.  [LECT.  XVIIL 

with  his  countrymen  of  Athens.  After  this  period  he  was,  indeed,  in  com 
munication  with  all  parts  of  Greece ;  and  he  himself  informs  us  that  his 
exile  enabled  him  to  mingle  with  the  Peloponnesians,  and  to  gain  accu- 
rate information  from  them  on  all  subjects  pertaining  to  the  war.  But 
he  was  out  of  the  way  of  the  intellectual  revolution  which  took  place  at 
Athens  between  the  middle  and  the  end  of  the  Peloponnesian  war ;  and 
when  he  returned  home  he  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  a  new  genera- 
tion, with  novel  ideas,  arid  an  essentially  altered  taste,  with  which  he  could 
hardly  have  amalgamated  so  thoroughly  in  his  old  age  as  to  change  his 
own  notions  in  accordance  with  them.  Thucydides,  therefore,  is  alto- 
gether an  old  Athenian  of  the  school  of  Pericles  :  his  education,  both 
real  and  formal,  was  derived  from,  that  grand  and  mighty  period  of 
Athenian  history.:  his  political  principles  were  those  which  Pericles  in- 
culcated ;  and  his  .style  is,  on  the  one  hand,  a  representative  of  the  native 
fulness  and  vigor  of  Periclean  oratory,  and  on  the  other  hand  an  offshoot 
of  the  antique,  artificial  rhetoric  taught  in  the  school  of  Antiphon. 

As  an  historian,  Thucydides  is  so  far  from  belonging  to  the  same  class 
with  Herodotus  and  the  Ionian  logographers,  that  he  may  rather  be  con- 
sidered as  having  himself  commenced  an  entirely  new  class  of  historical 
writing.  He  was  acquainted  with  the  works  of  several  of  these  Ionian  wri- 
ters, but  whether  or  not  with  the  works  of  Herodotus,  is  uncertain ;  but  he 
regarded  them  all  as  uncritical,  fabulous,  and  designed  rather  for  amuse- 
ment than  instruction.  Thucydides  directed  his  attention  to  the  public 
speeches  delivered  in  the  public  assemblies  and  the  law  courts  of  Greece ; 
and  thence  derived  the  foundation  of  his  history,  with  respect  both  to  its 
form  and  its  materials.  While  the  earlier  historians  aimed  at  giving  a 
vivid  picture  of  all  that  fell  under  the  cognizance  of  the  senses,  by  de- 
scribing the  situation  and  productions  of  different  countries,  the  peculiar 
customs  of  different  nations,  the  works  of  art  found  in  different  places,  and 
the  military  expeditions  which  were  undertaken  at  different  periods ;  and, 
while  they  endeavored  to  represent  a  superior  power  ruling  with  unlimited 
authority  over  the  destinies  of  people  and  princes,  the  attention  of  Thucy- 
dides was  directed  to  human  action,  as  it  is  developed  from  the  character 
and  situation  of  the  individual,  as  it  operates  on  the  condition  of  the  world 
in  general.  This  design  gives  a  unity  of  action  to  his  work,  and  renders 
it  an  historical  drama — a  great  law-suit,  the  parties  to  which  are  the  bel- 
ligerent republics,  and  the  object  of  which  is  the  Athenian  dominion  over 
Greece. 

It  is  very  remarkable,  that  Thueydides,  who  created  this  kind  of  his- 
tory, should  have  conceived  and  carried  out  the  idea  more  clearly  and 
vigorously  than  any  of  those  writers  who  followed  in  his  steps.  His  work 
was  designed  to  be  the  history  of  the  Peloponnesian  war  alone,  and  not 
the  history  of  Greece  during  that  war ;  and  consequently,  he  excluded 
everything  pertaining  either  to  the  foreign  relations  or  the  internal  policy 
of  the  different  States,  which  did  not  bear  upon  the  great  contest  for  the 


471  A.C.]  THUCYDIDES.  475  ^ 

chief  power  in  Greece.  On  the  other  hand,  he  admitted  everything,  to 
whatever  part  of  "  Hellas"  it  referred,  which  was  connected  with  this  strife 
of  nations. 

From  the  very  first,  Thucydides  had  considered  this  war  as  a  great 
event  in  the  history  of  the  world — as  one  which  could  not  be  ended  with- 
out deciding  the  question,  whether  Athens  was  to  become  a  great  empire, 
or  whether  she  was  to  be  reduced  to  the  condition  of  an  ordinary  Greek 
republic,  surrounded  by  many  others  equally  free  and  equally  powerful. 
He  could  not  but  see  that  the  peace  of  Nicias,  which  was  concluded  after 
the  first  ten  years  of  the  war,  had  not  really  put  an  end  to  it — that  it  was 
but  interrupted  by  an  equivocal  and  ill-observed  armistice,  and  that  it 
broke  out  afresh  during  the  Sicilian  expedition.  With  the  zeal  of  an  in- 
terested party,  and  with  all  the  power  of  truth,  he  shows  that  all  this  was 
one  great  contest,  and  that  the  peace  was  not  a  real  one. 

Thucydides  has  distributed  and  arranged  his  materials  according  to 
this  conception  of  his  subject.  The  whole  history  is  divided  into  eight 
books ;  and  in  his  introduction,  which  occupies  the  first  book,  the  author 
begins  with  asserting  that  the  Peloponnesian  war  was  the  greatest  event  that 
had  happened  within  the  memory  of  man,  and  establishes  this  position  by 
a  retrospective  survey  of  the  more  ancient  history  of  Greece,  including 
the  Persian  war.  He  goes  through  the  oldest  period,  the  traditions  of  the 
Trojan  war,  the  centuries  immediately  following  that  event,  and,  finally, 
the  Persian  invasion,  and  shows  that  all  previous  undertakings  wanted  the 
external  resources  which  were  brought  into  requisition  during  the  Pelo- 
ponnesian war,  because  they  were  deficient  in  two  things — money  and  a 
navy — which  did  not  arise  among  the  Greeks  until  a  late  period,  and  de- 
veloped themselves  by  slow  degrees. 

In  this  way  Thucydides  applies,  historically,  the  maxims  which  Pericles 
had  practically  impressed  upon  the  Athenians — that  money  and  ships, 
not  territory  and  population,  ought  to  be  made  the  basis  of  their  power; 
and  the  Peloponnesian  war  itself  appeared  to  him  a  strong  proof  of  this 
position,  because  the  Peloponnesians,  notwithstanding  their  superiority  in 
extent  of  country,  and  in  the  number  of  their  free  citizens,  so  long  fought 
with  Athens  at  a  disadvantage,  till  their  alliance  with  Persia  had  fur- 
nished them  with  abundant  pecuniary  revenues,  and  thus  enabled  them 
to  collect  and  maintain  a  considerable  fleet. 

Having,  by  this  comparison,  shown  the  importance  of  his  subject,  and 
having  given  a  short  account  of  the  manner  in  which  he  intended  to  treat 
it,  the  historian  proceeds  to  discuss  the  causes  which  led  to  the  war.  These 
he  divides  into  two  classes  : — the  immediate  causes,  or  those  which  lay  on 
the  surface,  and  those  which  lay  deeper  and  were  not  alleged  by  the  par- 
ties. The  first  consisted  of  the  negotiations  between  Athens  and  Corinth 
on  the  subject  of  Oorcyra  and  Potidsea,  and  the  consequent  complaint  of 
the  Corinthians  in  Sparta,  by  which  the  Lacedaemonians  were  induced  to 
declare  that  Athens  had  broken  the  treaty.  The  second  lay  in  the  fear 


476  THTJOYDIDES.  [LECT.  XVIII. 

which  the  growing  power  of  Athens  had  inspired,  and  by  which  the  Lace- 
daemonians were  compelled  to  make  war  as  the  only  pledge  of  security  to 
the  Peloponnese.  This  leads  the  historian  to  point  out  the  origin  of  that 
power,  and  to  give  a  general  view  of  the  military  and  political  occurrences 
by  which  Athens,  from  the  chosen  leader  of  the  insular  and  Asiatic  Greeks 
against  the  Persians,  became  the  absolute  sovereign  of  all  the  Archipel- 
ago and  its  coasts. 

The  war  itself  is  divided,  according  to  the  mode  in  which  it  was  carried 
on,  and  which  was  regulated  among  the  Greeks  by  the  seasons  of  the  year. 
The  campaigns  were  limited  to  the  summer,  while  the  winter  was  spent  in 
preparing  the  armaments,  and  in  negotiations.  As  the  Greeks  had  no 
general  era,  and  as  the  calendar  of  each  country  was  arranged  according 
to  some  peculiar  cycle,  Thucydides  takes  his  chronological  dates  from  the 
sequence  of  the  seasons,  and  from  the  state  of  the  corn-lands,  which  had 
a  considerable  influence  on  the  military  proceedings ;  such  expressions  as, 
/  when  the  corn  was  in  ear,'  or,  '  when  the  corn  was  ripe,'  were  sufficient 
to  mark  the  coherence  of  events  with  all  needful  accuracy. 

In  his  history  of  the  different  campaigns,  Thucydides  endeavors  to 
avoid  interruptions  to  the  thread  of  his  narrative ;  and  hence,  in  describ- 
ing any  expedition,  whether  by  land  or  sea,  he  tries  to  keep  the  whole  to- 
gether, and  prefers  to  violate  the  order  of  time,  either  by  going  back,  or 
by  anticipating  future  events,  in  order  to  escape  the  confusion  resulting 
from  continually  breaking  off  and  beginning  again.  That  long  and  pro- 
tracted affairs,  such  as  the  sieges  of  Potidaaa  and  Plataea,  must  recur  in 
different  parts  of  the  history  is  unavoidable  :  indeed  it  could  not  be  other- 
wise, even  if  the  distribution  into  summers  and  winters  could  have  been 
relinquished.  For  such  transactions  as  the  siege  of  Plataea  cannot  be 
brought  to  an  end  in  a  luminous  and  satisfactory  manner,  without  a  com- 
plete view  of  the  position  of  the  belligerent  powers,  which  prevented  the 
besieged  from  receiving  succor/  The  individual  event,  the  most  momen- 
tous in  the  whole  war,  and  which  the  author  has  invested  with  the  liveliest 
interest — the  Athenian  expedition  to  Sicily,  with  its  happy  commence- 
ment and  its  ruinous  termination — is  told  with  but  few,  and  very  short, 
digressions. 

The  style  of  Thucydides  is  remarkable  for  its  conciseness,  fervor,  and 
power.  In  descriptive  talent,  so  peculiarly  requisite  in  an  historian,  he 
was,  perhaps,  never  excelled.  The  descriptions  of  the  siege  of  Plataea, 
and  of  the  expedition  to  Sicily,  still  live  and  breathe  upon  his  pages. 
Indeed,  Thucydides  did  not  gather  the  materials  for  his  history  from 
books,  but  obtained  them  by  personal  researches  and  observations  made 
by  himself  where  the  events  recorded  by  him  transpired.  Hence  the 
whole  work  bears  the  aspect  of  the  narrative  of  an  eye-witness.  He 
lived,  however,  to  complete  the  history  of  the  first  nineteen  years  only 
of  the  war — the  history  of  the  remaining  eight  years  being  reserved  for 
the  pen  of  Xeuophon,  his  accomplished  .historical  successor. 


447  A.C.]  XENOPHON.  477 

Xenophon  was  a  native  of  Athens,  and  was  born  447  A.C.,  but  of 
what  condition  of  parentage  is  uncertain.  He  was  the  son  of  Gryllus, 
but  of  the  manner  in  which  the  first  part  of  his  life  was  passed  we  have 
no  knowledge.  In  the  twenty-third  year  of  his  age,  424  A.C.,  we  hear 
of  him  in  the  battle  of  Delium,  in  the  retreat  that  followed  which,  So- 
crates is  represented  to  have  saved  his  life.  From  that  period  Xenophon 
devoted  himself  for  many  years  to  the  instructions  of  the  great  philoso- 
pher, and  eventually  became  one  of  the  most  devoted  and  accomplished 
of  his  disciples.  The  first  literary  labor  of  Xenophon,  of  which  we  have 
any  knowledge,  was  the  editing  of  the  history  of  Thucydides,  which  was 
published  in  402  A. C.,  probably  immediately  after  Thucydides'  death. 

In  401  A.C.  Xenophon  joined  the  army  of  Cyrus  the  younger,  in  the 
expedition  of  that  prince  against  his  brother  Artaxerxes,  but  in  what 
capacity  is  unknown.  To  aid  him  in  the  daring  enterprise  of  dethron- 
ing his  brother,  Cyrus  had  engaged  an  army  of  thirteen  thousand  Greek 
auxiliaries,  under  the  command  of  the  Spartan  general  Clearchus,  be- 
tween whom  and  Xenophon  a. close  intimacy  had  long  subsisted.  Clear- 
chus, when  he  arrived  at  Sardis,  requested  Xenophon  to  join  him  in  that 
city,  which  was  the  head-quarters  of  the  army,  in  order  that  he  might 
introduce  him  to  the  personal  acquaintance  of  Cyrus  before  tie  expedi- 
tion commenced. 

The  real  object  of  this  expedition  was  concealed  from  the  Greeks  in  the 
army  of  Cyrus ;  but  Clearchus,  their  leader,  knew,  and  the  rest  doubtless 
suspected  what  it  was.  Cyrus  himself  announced  that  he  was  going  to 
attack  the  Pisidians,  but  the  direction  of  his  march  must  have  very 
soon  shown  that  he  was  going  elsewhere.  He  led  his  forces  through  Asia 
Minor,  and  over  the  mountains  of  Taurus  to  Tarsus,  in  Cilicia.  From 
thence  he  passed  into  Syria,  crossed  the  Euphrates,  and  met  the  vast 
army  of  Persians  in  the  plain  of  Cunaxa,  about  forty  miles  from  Baby- 
lon. In  the  battle  that  followed  Cyrus  lost  his  life,  his  barbarian  troops 
were  dispersed,  and  the  Greeks  were  left  alone  on  the  wide  plains  be- 
tween the  Tigris  and  the  Euphrates,  at  a  distance  of  more  than  fifteen 
hundred  miles  from  their  native  country.  It  was  not,  however,  till  after 
the  treacherous  massacre  of  Clearchus  and  the  other  Greek  commanders, 
by  the  Persian  satrap  Tissaphernes,  that  Xenophon  became  at  all  con- 
spicuous. 

Xenophon  had  hitherto  held  no  command  in  the  army,  nor  does  it 
appear  that  he  had  served  even  as  a  soldier.  In  the  commencement  of 
the  third  book  of  the  Anabasis  he  informs  us  how  he  came  to  take  a 
part  in  conducting  the  hazardous  retreat  of  the  ten  thousand  Greeks 
that  still  survived,  back  to  their  own  country.  Instead  of  attempting  to 
return  by  the  road  by  which  they  had  entered  Persia,  where  they  cooild 
expect  to  find  no  supplies,  at  least  till  they  should  reach  the  Mediter- 
ranean, the  new  Greek  leaders  conducted  their  army  along  the  Tigris, 
and  over  the  high  table  lands  of  Armenia  to  Trapezus,  now  Trebizoud,  a 


478  XENOPHON.  [LEOT.  XVIII. 

Greek  colony  on  the  south-east  coast  of  the  Black  Sea.  From  Trapezus 
the  troops  were  conducted  to  Chrysopolis,  opposite  Byzantium ;  and  as 
they  were  now  comparatively  destitute,  the  division  under  the  command  of 
Xenophon  entered  the  service  of  Seuthes,  king  of  Thrace,  who  needed 
their  aid,  and  who  promised  to  reward  them  for  it.  The  Greeks  per- 
formed their  part  of  the  engagement,  but  Seuthes  was  unwilling  to  pay 
them  ;  and  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  Xenophon  obtained  from 
the  king  even  a  part  of  what  he  had  promised.  The  description  which 
Xenophon  gives  of  the  manners  of  the  Thracians  is  very  curious  and 
amusing. 

The  Lacedaemonians  were  at  this  time  at  war  with  the  Persian  satraps 
Tissaphernes  and  Pharnabazus;  and  Thimbron,  the  Spartan  general, 
invited  Xenophon  and  his  troops  to  join  them.  This  event  occurred 
399  A.C.,  the  same  year  in  which  Socrates  was  put  to  death;  and  it  gave 
such  offence  to  the  Athenians  that  they  immediately  passed  upon  Xeno- 
phon .the  sentence  of  banishment.  Thus  exiled  from  his  native  country, 
Xenophon  remained  in  Asia  Minor  with  the  Lacedaemonian  army  until 
396  A. C.,  when  Agesilaus,  the  Spartan  king,  took  the  command;  and 
when,  in  394  A.C.,  that  prince  was  recalled  to  defend  his  own  country, 
Xenophon  accompanied  him  to  Sparta.  The  battle  of  Coronea,  between 
the  Spartans  and  the  Athenians,  immediately  followed ;  and  as  in  that 
conflict  Xenophon  took  part  with  the  Spartans,  his  exile  became  thence- 
forth permanently  fixed. 

Xenophon  now  took  up  his  residence  at  Scillus,  in  Elis,  not  far 
from  Olympia ;  and  here  he  was  soon  after  joined  by  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren. In  this  quiet  retreat  he  remained  for  twenty  years,  during  which 
he  is  supposed  to  have  written  most  of  his  works  ;  but  in  371  A.C.,  when 
the  Eleans  took  Scillus,  Xenophon  retired  to  Corinth,  where  he  probably 
remained  until  his  death,  which  occurred  in  359  A.C. 

As  a  writer,  Xenophon  had,  perhaps,  no  superior  in  all  antiquity.  So 
exquisite  is  his  style,  that  Plato,  the  great  philosopher,  said,  '  The  Graces 
dictated  his  language,  and  the  Goddess  of  Persuasion  dwelt  upon  his  lips.' 
His  works  were  very  numerous,  and,  happily,  the  most  important  of  them 
have  been  preserved.  Of  these,  the  principal  are  the  Anabasis ;  the 
Hellenica ;  the  Cyropcedia ;  the  Memorabilia ;  the  Agesilaus ;  the 
Hipparckicus ;  the  Cynegeticus ;  the  Symposium ;  the  Hiero ;  and 
the  CEconomicus. 

The  Anabasis,  or  the  History  of  the  Expedition  of  the  Younger  Cyrus, 
and  of  the  Retreat  of  the  Greeks,  who  formed  a  part  of  his  army,  has 
alone  immortalized  the  author's  name.  It  is  a  clear  and  pleasing  narra- 
tive, simple  and  unaffected  in  style ;  and  it  imparts  much  curious  and 
valuable  information  of  the  country  which  was  traversed  by  the  retreat- 
ing Greeks,  and  of  the  manners  of  the  natives,  through  whose  territory 
they  passed.  It  was  the  first  work  which  acquainted  the  Greeks  with 


447A.C.]  XENOPHON.  479 

certain  portions  of  the  Persian  empire,  and  it  thoroughly  exhibited  the 
extreme  weakness  of  that  extensive  monarchy.  The  skirmishes  of  the 
retreating  Greeks  with  their  enemies,  and  the  battles  with  some  of  the 
barbarian  tribes,  are  not  such  events  as  elevate  the  work  to  the  character 
of  a  military  history,  nor  can  it,  as  such,  be  compared  with  Caesar's  Com- 
mentaries. Indeed,  those  passages  in  the  Anabasis  which  relate  directly 
to  the  military  movements  of  the  retreating  army  are  not  always  clear, 
nor  have  we  any  evidence  that  Xenophon  possessed  any  military  talent 
for  great  operations,  whatever  may  have*been  his  skill  as  the  commander 
of  a  division. 

The  HeUenica  comprehends  the  space  of  forty-eight  years,  commencing 
with  the  period  at  which  the  history  of  Thucydides  closes,  and  ending  with 
the  battle  of  Mantinea,  362  A.C.  It  is  simply  a  narrative  of  events, 
with  little  ornament,  and  contains  nothing  in  the  treatment  of  them 
which  gives  special  interest  to  the  work.  Some  events  of  importance  are 
briefly  treated,  and  a  few  striking  incidents,  with  particularity  and  much 
beauty.  Indeed,  it  comprehended  the  days  of  the  commencement  of 
Grecian  degeneracy,  and,  therefore,  presented  little  to  elicit  the  feelings, 
or  to  stir  up  the  enthusiasm  of  the  historian. 

The  C'yropcedia,  may  be  regarded  as  a  kind  of  political  romance,  the 
basis  of  which  is  the  history  of  Cyrus,  the  founder  of  the  Persian  empire. 
It  exhibits  the  manner  in  which  citizens  may  be  made  virtuous  and 
brave  ;  and  Cyrus  is  the  model  of  a  wise  and  virtuous  ruler.  As  a  his- 
tory it  has,  perhaps,  little  value.  Xenophon  adopted  the  current  stories 
concerning  Cyrus,  and  the  principal  events  of  his  reign,  without  any 
intention  of  subjecting  them  to  a  critical  examination ;  nor  have  we  any 
reason  to  suppose  that  his  picture  of  Persian  morals  and  Persian  discip 
line  is  anything  more  than  a  fiction.  But  still  the  whole  performance 
is  so  exquisitely  executed,  that  our  admiration  is  elicited  from  every  page. 
The  dying  speech  of  Cyrus  is  worthy  of  the  pupil  of  Socrates,  and  Cicero 
has  used  the  substance  of  it  to  enforce  his  argument  for  the  immortality 
of  the  soul.  This  passage  alone  is  sufficient  evidence  of  Xenophon's 
belief  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  independent  of  the  organized  being 
in  which  it  acts.  <  I  never  could  be  persuaded.'  says  Cyrus,  '  that  the 
soul  lives  so  long  as  it  is  in  a  perishable  body,  and  that  it  dies  when  it  is 
released  from  it.'  This  argument  of  Xenophon  bears  a  striking  resem- 
blance to  the  argument  of  Bishop  Butler,  where,  in  his  Analogy,  he 
treats  of  a  future  state. 

The  Memorabilia  of  Socrates  was  designed  by  Xenophon  as  a  defence 
of  the  memory  of  his  master,  against  the  charge  of  irreligion,  and  of  cor- 
rupting the  Athenian  youth.  In  this  work  Socrates  is  represented  as 
holding  a  series  of  conversations,  in  which  he  developes  and  inculcates 
moral  doctrines  in  a  manner  peculiar  to  himself.  It  is  entirely  a  prac- 
tical work,  jind  professes  to  exhibit  Socrates  as  he  actually  taught.  The 
whole  treatise  was  evidently  intended  as  an  answer  to  the  charge  upon 


480  C  T  E  S  I  A  S .  [LECT.  XVIII. 

which  Socrates  was  executed,  and  it  is,  therefore,  in  its  nature,  not 
designed  as  a  complete  exhibition  of  Socrates  himself.  That  it  is  a 
genuine  picture  of  the  man,  is  indisputable  ;  and  it  is  by  far  the  most 
valuable  memorial  we  have  of  Socrates'  practical  philosophy. 

The  Agesilaus  is  a  panegyric  on  Agesilaus,  king  of  Sparta,  the  friend 
and  protector  of  Xenophon  after  his  banishment  from  Athens.  The 
Hipparchicus  is  a  treatise  on  the  duties  of  a  commander  of  cavalry,  and 
contains  many  valuable  precepts.  The  Cynegeticus  is  a  treatise  on  hunt- 
ing— an  amusement  of  which*  Xenophon  appears  to  have  been  pas- 
sionately fond— on  the  training  of  the  dog,  on  the  various  kinds  of  game, 
and  the  mode  of  taking  them.  The  Symposium,  or  Banquet  of  Philos- 
ophers, delineates  the  character  of  Socrates  in  the  midst  of  his  pliilosophic 
associates.  The  Hiero  is  a  dialogue  between  Hiero,  king  of  Syracuse, 
and  the  poet  Simonides.  In  this  dialogue  the  king  dwells  upon  the  dan- 
gers and  difficulties  of  an  exajted  station,  and  the  superior  happiness  of 
a  private  man  ;  while  the  poet,  on  the  other  hand,  enumerates  the  advan- 
tages which  the  possession  of  power  gives,  and  the  means  which  it  affords 
of  obliging  others,  and  of  doing  them  services.  The  CEconomicus  is  a 
dialogue  between  Socrates  and  Critobulus  in  relation  to  the  administra- 
tion of  a  man's  household  affairs,  and  to  the  care  of  his  property.  These 
minor  productions  of  Xenophon  require,  however,  no  farther  notice. 

We  have  lingered  so  long  with  the  three  great  Grecian  historians, 
Herodotus,  Thucydides,  and  Xenophon,  that  upon  their  successors  we  can 
bestow  only  a  passing  glance.  This  circumstance  we  cannot,  however, 
upon  reflection,  regret,  as  it  is  to  the  former,  exclusively,  that  we  are  in- 
debted for  our  knowledge  of  Grecian  affairs  from  the  remotest  period  in 
their  history,  down  to  the  death  of  Epaminondas,  362  A.C. ;  and,  doubt- 
less, much  of  the  interest  which  these  affairs  have  always  excited  among 
refined  nations,  is  attributable  more  to  the  brilliancy  with  which  they  are 
delineated,  than  to  their  intrinsic  importance. 

Ctesias  was  a  native  of  Cnidus,  in  Caria,  and  was  a  contemporary  of 
Xenophon ;  but  neither  the  period  of  his  birth,  nor  the  time  of  his  death, 
has  been  preserved.  He  belonged  to  a  family  of  physicians,  and  was 
himself  bred  to  that  profession ;  and  being  taken  prisoner  by  the  Per- 
sians during  the  reign  of  Artaxerxes,  he  was  conveyed  to  that  monarch's 
court,  where  his  medical  skill  soon  raised  him  to  the  position  of  royal 
physician.  After  having  remained  some  years  in  Persia,  Ctesias  was  sent 
by  Artaxerxes  into  Greece,  to  concert  measures  with  Conon,  the  Athe- 
nian commander,  for  humbling  the  pride  of  Sparta ;  and  from  that  period 
nothing  more  is  known  of  him. 

During  his  residence  at  the  Persian  court,  Ctesias  collected  all  the  in- 
formation that  was  there  attainable  for  writing  the  history  o£  Persia,  the 
design  of  which  was  to  give  his  countrymen  a  more  accurate  knowledge 


204A.C.]  POLYBIUS.  481 

of  that  empire  than  they  then  possessed,  and  to  refute  the  errors  current 
in  Greece,  concerning  it.  The  materials  for  this  history,  so  far  as  he 
did  not  describe  events  that  fell  under  his  own  observation,  he  derived 
from  the  official  history  of  the  Persian  empire,  kept  in  accordance  with  a 
law  of  the  country.  His  history  commences  with  the  foundation  of  the 
Assyrian  empire,  and  comes  down  to  398  A.C.  The  form  and  style  of 
this  work  were  highly  commended  by  the  ancients,  and  its  loss  may  there- 
fore be  regarded,  so  far  as  the  history  of  the  East  is  concerned,  one  of  the 
most  serious  that  we  could  have  sustained.  Of  the  original  work  of 
Ctesias  nothing  has  been  preserved  but  a  meagre  abridgment  by 
Photius. 

Ctesias  wrote  a  brief  work  also  on  the  natural  history  of  India,  of 
which  Photius  has  left  us  an  analysis.  As  this  work  is  derived  princi- 
pally from  Persian  records  and  traditions,  and  not  from  original  re- 
searches, and  thus  contains  a  mixture  of  truth  and  fable,  it  could  never 
have  been  of  any  great  value.  Ctesias  wrote  in  the  Ionic  dialect,  and  his 
style  is  said  to  have  been  easy,  full,  and  flowing.  With  Ctesias  the  early 
school  of  Grecian  historians  closed,  and  thenceforward  Greece  produced 
no  other  historian  for  two  hundred  years. 

Polybius,  the  next  historical  writer  to  be  noticed,  was  the  son  of  Ly- 
cortas,  and  was  born  at  Megalopolis,  in  Arcadia,  204  A.C.  Lycortas, 
being  one  of  the  most  eminent  men  of  Arcadia,  Polybius  enjoyed  every 
advantage  of  education,  and  in  early  manhood  became  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  men  of  the  Achaean  league.  When  that  league  was  dis- 
solved by  the  Romans  in  168  A.C.,  one  thousand  of  the  most  conspicu- 
ous of  the  Achseans,  among  whom  was  Polybius,  were  ordered  to  Rome 
to  answer  the  charge  of  not  assisting  the  Romans  in  their  recent  war  with 
Perseus,  the  last  king  of  Macedon.  These  Achaean  exiles,  instead  of  being 
carried  to  Rome,  were  distributed  among  the  Etruscan  towns  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  city ;  but  Polybius  having  previously  formed  the  acquaint- 
ance of  jEmilius  Paulus,  was  taken  by  that  distinguished  commander 
into  his  own  family,  and  there  became  the  teacher  of  his  two  sons,  Fabius 
and  Scipio.  The  relation  thus  formed  between  these  two  young  noble- 
men and  the  future  historian  soon  ripened  into  the  most  intimate  friend- 
ship ;  and  when  Polybius,  therefore,  made  known  his  design  of  writing 
the  history  of  the  Punic  wars,  Scipio  afforded  him  every  possible  facility 
for  collecting  the  necessary  materials.  Polybius  continued  to  reside  at 
Rome,  with  occasional  journeyings  into  his  native  country,  until  his 
death,  which  was  occasioned  by  a  fall  from  his  horse,  in  the  eighty-third 
year  of  his  age,  and  122  A.C. 

The  history  of  Polybius  was  comprised  in  forty  books,  and  embraced 
the  entire  period  from  the  commencement  of  the  Second  Punic  war  220 
A.C.,  to  the  fall  of  Carthage  and  Corinth  146  A.C.  It  consisted  of  two 
distinct  parts,  which  were  probably  published  at  different  times,  and  after- 

31 


482  D 1 0  D  O  R  TJ  S.  [LECT.  XVIIL 

wards  united  into  one  work.  The  first  part  comprised  a  period  of  fifty-three 
years,  beginning  with  the  second  Punic  war,  the  Social  war  in  Greece,  and 
the  war  between  Ptolemy  Philopator  in  Asia,  and  ending  with  the  conquest 
of  Perseus  and  the  downfall  of  the  Macedonian  kingdom,  108  A.C.  This 
was  in  reality  the  main  portion  of  the  work,  and  its  great  object  was  to 
show  how  the  Romans  had,  in  this  brief  period  of  fifty-three  years,  con- 
quered the  greater  part  of  the  world.  The  second  part,  which  formed  a 
kind  of  supplement  to  the  first,  comprised  the  period  of  twenty-two  years, 
from  the  conquest  of  Perseus  to  the  fall  of  Corinth.  To  prepare  him- 
self for  the  composition  of  this  great  work,  Polybius  traversed  every  coun- 
try over  which  the  scenes  of  his  history  would  carry  him — from  Carthage 
through  Africa,  Spain,  Gaul,  and  Italy — and  thus,  like  Thucydides,  made 
himself  an  eye-witness  of  every  scene  which  he  designed  to  describe.  Of 
this  great  work  the  first  five  books  only,  and  a  few  fragments,  have  been 
preserved. 

The  characteristic  feature  of  the  history  of  Polybius,  and  the  one  which 
distinguishes  it  from  all  other  histories  that  have  come  down  to  us  from 
antiquity,  is  its  didactic  nature.  He  did  not,  like  most  other  historians, 
write  to  afford  amusement  to  his  readers,  or  to  gratify  an  idle  curiosity 
respecting  the  migration  of  nations,  the  foundation  of  cities,  or  the  set- 
tlement of  colonies ;  but  his  object  was  to  teach  by  the  past  a  knowledge 
of  the  future,  and  to  deduce  from  previous  events,  lessons  of  practical 
wisdom.  In  style,  it  is  true,  the  great  historical  writers  of  the  earlier 
Grecian  period  were  far  superior  to  Polybius ;  but  in  every  other  quality 
of  an  historian,  no  other  writer,  either  ancient  or  modern,  has  sur- 
passed him. 

Diodorus  Siculus  was  a  native  of  the  town  of  Agyrium  in  Sicily,  and 
a  contemporary  of  Julius  Caesar ;  but  the  period  of  his  birth  is  unknown. 
Little  farther  is  recorded  of  the  history  of  his  life  than  that  he  early  con- 
ceived the  design  of  writing  a  universal  history ;  and  in  order  to  acquire 
the  requisite  knowledge  for  the  proper  execution  of  this  important  task, 
he  spent  thirty  years  in  travelling  through  the  different  countries  of  Eu- 
rope and  Asia,  and  in  examining  public  documents  and  particular  lo- 
calities. 

The  work  of  Diodorus  consisted  of  forty  books,  and  embraced  the  period 
from  the  earliest  mythical  ages  down  to  the  beginning  of  Caesar's  Gallic 
wars.  It  was  also  divided  into  three  great  sections ;  the  first  of  which 
occupied  the  first  six  books,  and  embraced  the  history  of  the  mythical 
times  previous  to  the  Trojan  war.  The  second  section  consisted  of  eleven 
books,  and  contained  the  history  of  the  period  from  the  Trojan  war  down 
to  the  death  of  Alexander  the  Great;  and  the  third  section,  which  con- 
tained the  remaining  twenty-three  books,  treated  of  the  history  of  the 
world  from  the  death  of  Alexander  down  to  the  author's  own  age.  Of 
this  elaborate  work  the  first  five  books,  and  from  the  eleventh  to  the 


50  A.D.]  PLUTARCH.  433 

twentieth  inclusive,  are  perfect ;  and  of  the  remaining  books,  very  con- 
siderable fragments  have  been  preserved. 

The  style  of  Diodorus  is  clear  and  lucid,  but  not  always  equal — a  pe- 
culiarity attributable  to  the  different  character  of  the  works  which  he,  in 
his  own  compilation,  used  or  abridged.  His  diction  holds  a  medium  be- 
tween the  refined  Attic  and  the  vulgar  Greek  which  was  spoken  in  his  time. 

Dionysius  of  Halicarnassus,  was  born  at  Halicarnassus,  in  Caria,  about 
68  A.C.,  but  early  removed  to  Rome,  where  he  remained  until  his  death, 
which  occurred  7  A.  C.,  in  the  sixty-second  year  of  his  age.  His  life  was 
that  of  a  man  devoted  purely  and  exclusively  to  literature  ;  and  hence  it 
affords  few  incidents. 

The  works  of  Dionysius  were  very  numerous,  and  may  properly  be  di- 
vided into  two  classes — the  first  of  which  embraces  his  rhetorical  and 
critical  treatises,  and  were  probably  written  soon  after  his  settlement  in 
Rome — and  the  second,  his  historical  works.  Of  the  latter,  the  principal 
performance  is  the  history  of  Rome  from  its  foundation  down  to  the  com- 
mencement of  the  second  Punic  war.  This  work  was  divided  into  twenty 
books,  the  first  nine  of  which  are  still  complete,  while  of  the  tenth  and 
the  eleventh  we  have  the  greater  part ;  but  of  the  remaining  nine  books 
nothing  excepting  a  few  fragments  remains.  The  style  of  Dionysius  is 
good,  and  his  language  is  pure ;  but  both  appear  to  greater  advantage  in 
his  rhetorical  and  critical  works  than  in  his  history. 

Plutarch  was  a  native  of  Chseronea,  in  Boeotia,  and  was  born  about 
50  A.D.  Though  his  grandfather,  Lamprias,  and  his  two  brothers, 
Timon  and  Lamprias,  are  mentioned  by  him,  yet  neither  his  father  nor 
his  mother  is  anywhere  alluded  to.  From  this  circumstance  critics  are 
generally  inclined  to  believe  that  he  was  of  low  origin ;  but  the  manner 
in  which  he  was  educated  does  not  sustain  this  idea.  He  studied  phi- 
losophy at  Athens,  and  afterwards  removed  to  Rome,  where  he,  for  many 
years,  filled  high  and  important  offices  of  State ;  and  in  advanced  life  he 
returned  to  his  native  place,  and  there  passed  the  remainder  of  his  days. 
The  time  of  his  death  is  uncertain,  though  it  is  generally  believed  that 
he  lived  to  an  advanced  age. 

The  work  which  has  immortalized  Plutarch's  name  is  his  Parallel 
Lives  of  forty-six  Greeks  and  Romans.  The  forty- six  Lives  are  ar- 
ranged in  pairs,  each  pair  containing  the  life  of  a  Greek  and  a  Roman, 
and  is  followed  by  a  comparison  of  the  two  men ;  though  in  some  pairs 
the  comparison  is  omitted.  The  author  seems  to  have  considered  each 
pair  of  Lives  and  the  Parallel  as  composing  a  book;  for  when  he 
Bpeaks  of  the  Lives  of  Demosthenes  and  Cicero,  he  mentions  them  as  the 
fifth  book  of  his  work.  By  this  remark  he  must  have  meant,  however, 
the  fifth  in  the  order  in  which  he  wrote  them ;  for,  if  each  pair  composed 
a  book,  it  could  not  be  the  fifth  in  any  other  sense. 


484  APPIAN.  [LECT.  XVIII. 

Plutarch's  style  .»  narsh  and  dry  ;  and  of  this  quality  in  his  writing 
he  himself  was  perfectly  conscious,  for  when  reminded  of  it  he  replied, 
"  I  am  aware  of  what  you  say;  but  it  is  not  my  business  to  please  the 
ear,  but  to  instruct  and  charm  the  mind."  This  is  the  secret  of  the 
success  of  his  great  work.  It  is,  and  will  remain,  in  spite  of  all  the 
fault  that  may  be  found  with  it  by  plodding  collectors  of  facts,  and  small 
critics,  the  book  of  those  who  can  nobly  think,  and  dare,  and  do  so.  It 
is  the  book  of  all  ages,  for  the  same  reason  that  good  portraiture  is  the 
painting  of  all  time  ;  for  the  human  face  and  the  human  character  are 
ever  the  same.  It  is  a  mirror  in  which  all  men  may  look  at  themselves. 

Arrian  was  a  native  of  Nicomedia,  in  Bithynia,  and  was  born  towards 
the  end  of  the  first  Christian  century.  He  was  a  pupil  and  friend  of 
Epictetus,  and  bore  the  same  relation  to  that  philosopher  that  Xeno- 
phon  had  borne  to  Socrates.  In  124  A.D.  he  gained  the  friendship  of 
the  emperor  Adrian,  and  received  from  the  emperor's  own  hands  "  the 
broad  purple"  —  a  distinction  which  conferred  upon  him  not  only  the 
privileges  of  Roman  citizenship,  but  the  right  to  hold  any  of  the  great 
offices  of  State  in  the  Roman  empire.  In  136  A.D.  Arrian  was  appointed 
prefect  of  Cappadocia,  and  in  the  following  year  that  province  was  in- 
vaded by  the  Alani,  whom  the  prefect  defeated  in  a  decisive  battle,  and 
thus  added  to  his  reputation  of  a  philosopher  that  of  a  brave  and  skilful 
general.  Under  Antoninus  Pius,  Arrian  was  promoted  in  146  A.D.  to 
the  consulship  ;  and  a  few  years  after  he  retired  to  his  native  town,  and 
there  passed  the  remainder  of  his  life  in  study,  and  in  the  composition 
of  his  historical  works.  He  died  at  an  advanced  age  in  the  reign  of 
Marcus  Aurelius,  and  Dion  Cassius  soon  after  wrote  his  life  ;  but  un- 
fortunately no  fragment  of  the  work  has  reached  us. 

Of  the  historical  productions  of  Arrian,  the  principal  is  Alexander's 
Asiatic  Expedition.  This  great  work  is  still  almost  entirely  complete, 
and  it  strikingly  reminds  the  reader  of  Xenophon's  Anabasis.  It  is 
true,  the  work  is  not  equal  to  the  Anabasis  as  a  composition  ;  and  what 
work  is  !  It  does  not  possess  either  the  thorough  equality  and  noble 
simplicity,  or  the  vividness  of  Xenophon  ;  but  Arrian  was,  nevertheless, 
one  of  the  most  excellent  writers  of  his  time.  As  an  expression  of  the 
highest  mark  of  their  admiration,  the  Athenians  called  Arrian  the 
Younger  Xenophon.  Arrian  wrote  another  historical  work  also,  on 
India,  not  dissimilar  to  the  work  of  Ctesias  on  the  same  subject. 


A  word  about  Appian,  Dion  Cassius,  and  jElian,  will  close  our  present 
remarks. 

Appian  was,  as  we  learn  from  various  passages  of  his  writings,  a  native 
of  Alexandria,  in  Egypt,  but  early  removed  to  Rome,  and  resided  in  the 
imperial  city  during  the  reigns  of  Trajan,  Adrian,  and  Antoninus  Pius. 
He  wrote,  amongst  other  things,  a  Roman  history  in  twenty-four  books, 


156A.D.]  DION    CASSIUS.—  ^ELIAN.  485 

on  a  plan  differing  from  that  of  most  historians.  Instead  of  treating 
the  Roman  empire  as  a  whole  in  chronological  order,  he  gave  a  separate 
account  of  the  affairs  of  each  country  from  the  time  that  it  became  con- 
nected with  the  Romans,  till  it  was  finally  incorporated  in  the  Roman 
empire.  The  work  is  not,  however,  either  in  matter  or  manner,  of  any 
great  importance. 

Dion  Cassius  was  born  at  Nicaea,  in  Bithynia,  about  155  A.D.  He 
early  removed  to  Rome,  and  was  eventually  raised  to  the  position  of 
senator,  in  which,  and  various  other  positions,  he  passed  a  long  life  ; 
but  the  time  of  his  death  is  not  known.  Though  Dion  wrote  a  his- 
tory of  Rome,  from  the  earliest  periods  down  to  his  own  times,  yet 
his  principal  compositions  were  biographical.  In  the  formation  of  his 
style,  Dion  endeavors  to  imitate  the  classical  writers  of  ancient  Greece  ; 
but  his  language  is,  nevertheless,  full  of  peculiarities,  barbarisms,  and 
Latinisms  —  probably  the  consequence  of  his  long  residence  in  Italy. 


,  though  of  Greek  parentage,  was  a  native  of  Italy,  and  was 
contemporary  with  the  two  last  writers  mentioned.  His  principal  his- 
torical work  is  entitled  Varia  Historia,  and  contains  short  narratives 
and  anecdotes,  historical,  biographical,  and  antiquarian,  selected  from 
various  authors,  generally  without  their  names  being  given,  and  on  a 
variety  of  subjects.  Its  chief  value,  however,  arises  from  its  containing 
many  passages  from  older  authors  whose  works  are  now  lost. 


THE   END. 


V 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


Hi 


" 


